Old Coworkers
by epicpickleninja
Summary: Neal bumps into some of his old coworkers through an unlikely circumstance. Takes place during the beginning of season one.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello nice people who are going to read my story. This is set near the beginning of the season 1 when Neal is still looking for Kate.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar (**_**WHAT? **_**I know, total surprise**_**)**_

Neal burst through the double doors leading to the lobby of the FBI headquarters, unusually late. He nodded to the receptionist and punched the elevator button. It opened instantly, instead of taking the usual ten minutes. Huh, apparently he had a little luck today after all_. _His wouldn't consider today one of the best days ever, but who knows? It might turn up. He doubted it though. Neal had another sleepless night. He was just so sure that he and Mozzie found a lead on Kate. It had seemed promising—Kate loved Niagara Falls—until it turned into a dead end. Neal gave a frustrated sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. He was beginning to doubt that he'd ever find the Man with the Ring.

When Neal did actually manage to fall asleep—4:27 AM, but who's counting?—he woke up with Mozzie prodding him experimentally on the forehead. Apparently his alarm clock died over night, how quant. So here he was, forced into practically running a marathon to work, so the Feds, his supposed coworkers, wouldn't assume that he was trying to escape which, frankly, was getting old. What does an alleged art thief have to do to get some trust around here?

Neal watched as the glowing number changed to 21. Show time. The elevator doors dinged open, cueing Neal to get his game face on which consisted of a charming smile and a fedora placed stylishly slanted on his head. Somewhat satisfied, he sauntered out.

" 'Bout time you showed up. Thought I was going to have to send out a search," said Peter, leaning against a wall nearby. Neal took a moment to wonder how long Peter had been there.

"Oh come on, and leave you guys to fend for yourselves? I don't think so," said Neal as he twirled his hat around hoping, and succeeding, to annoy Peter. "So what are we doing today? Catching a master thief? Finding…"

"Mortgage fraud," Peter interrupted. _Dang. _Neal had a list prepared for this and everything.

"Ah." More mortgage fraud. _Fun_. At least it beat copyright infringements…maybe. Neal tended to think out of the box for those, not in a good way. He always came up with reasons why it _didn't _violate the copyright instead of the other way around. Peter was irritated at him for no end for doing that. Peter was even more irritated at him when Neal was actually right. Small victories. They were very satisfying.

"Ah, indeed."

"I'll go get the files," Neal said wearily, once again curious to the fact that he had to do the clerks' job. He just hated the tax payers' money going to waste like that which he explained to Peter a number of occasions, but Peter always rolled his eyes and told Neal to 'cowboy up.' Wow, Neal was really starting to have a hate that phrase. He nodded to Jones as he rounded the corner.

~O~

Peter watched Neal leave in a very well hidden, deflated way. He should probably talk to him soon. El was growing more and more insistent that he did so. This week had been a very dry week for the White Collar Unit and Peter knew Neal was bored out of his mind. It was a miracle that the office wasn't in shambles, but Peter was still convinced that Neal had something planned. He was determined to figure it out before it was too late. There was not going to be another glue incident, or paper clip incident, or moving everything on an agent's desk to an alternate location just to watch in amusement while said agent searched and searched for an object he _knew _he put in the top drawer. He was never leaving Neal in his office unsupervised again.

Peter caught sight of Jones rounding a corner. He made his way toward the younger agent. "So who's getting interrogated for the forgery?"

"Forger_ies_," Jones corrected as Peter came to a halt beside him, "and his name is Thomas Holdings and so far he has said all of nothing. He's starting to scare some of the newbies." In answer to the questioning look Peter gave him, Jones elaborated. "He's real…bulky…in an Arnold Schwarzenegger sort of way."

"He was probably the muscle man for the thief team."

"Probably, but he still isn't talking and if we can't find any new evidence, we'll have to release our only suspect," Jones sighed. "Remind me again why Neal isn't helping."

"They're worried he'll be impressed by these thieves and want to run with them," Peter said, his polite tone barely disguising what he truly thought of the idea.

~O~

_Yep. Today is an all around horrible day._ Neal finally concluded as he glared at the huge pile of mortgage fraud files he was currently holding. _Not my _worst _day ever, but by far not the best. It couldn't possibly get any worse, _Neal instantly berated himself. _Great, I just jinxed it. Lovely. _The reformed conman brightened slightly._ Of course, there's absolutely no chance of having the wrong end of a gun pointed at me. That always seems to put a damper on my day for some reason…_ Neal began to calculate the odds of him completing five cases before mooching a lunch off Peter when he turned the corner.

Neal nearly dropped the very heavy box of mortgage fraud cases on his foot. He froze in shock as he watched in fascinated horror all the White Collar FBI agents being patted down by black masked gunmen before they forced, very efficiently, into a tight circle in the middle of the bullpen. The guns and other weapons were being thrown down a line of gunmen and into a box with an ease that could only come from experience.

"Boss there's one more!" shouted one of the henchmen. Neal mentally kicked himself. Why did stand in plain sight of the unknown gunmen instead of sneaking off?

"Vell, vat are u vaiting for?" yelled the boss. "Put him vith the others!"

Neal was brutally shoved over to the pile of FBI agents. A small part of him was a bit peeved that a wrong end of a gun had, in fact, been pointed at him.

**So…what did you think?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews! You guys completely made my day! Well here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

"Remind me why Caffery isn't helping," sighed Jones.

"They're worried he'll be impressed by these thieves and want to run with them," Peter answered, a bit peeved himself that some of the higher ups still believed that Neal couldn't perform the simplest of tasks without attempting to run or do something illegal. Not that he'd trust Neal in an art museum, but he honestly thought that the ex con-man could help speed the interrogation process along—he could be quite menacing when the mood took him. Also, the belief that Neal would run with this particular band of thieves was highly unlikely. Along with the missing paintings, there were four dead guards found at the scene of the crime.

"Agent Burke," said Agent Cruz in an official voice, followed closely by a worried man in a suit, "This is The Museum of Ancient Antiquities' Art Director."

"I am so relieved that you vill help us get the _Irises _and the_ Midnight Moon_ back," said the Art Director in a heavy Austrian accent, firmly shaking Peter's extended hand. "You have no idea the bad publicity ve'd get if vord got out."

"We'll do what we can," Peter reassured the Art Director as he took in the Austrian's obviously expensive and well-tailored suit. _Maybe him and Neal could compare notes later_. The thought brought a slight smirk to Peter's face as he began the mini-interrogation. "So did anything unusual happen that night?"

"Vell…" the Art Director began with a slight frown, "I don't think anything out of the ordinary happened. I locked up and said good-bye to Harold – " he broke off with a choked voice. Harold was one of the four dead security guards. Lauren patted his shoulder comfortingly.

"Any suspicious looking visitors?" Jones questioned after a moment.

The Art Director shook his head. "No."

"How about-" began Cruz as the lights started to flicker ominously before they went out completely. The rest of the agents all started murmuring to each other at once. Some were wondering if the maintenance people accidentally cut a power line while installing the FBI's new security system. Most caffeine-deprived agents muttered amongst themselves about how they would die of shock if maintenance actually did their job. Peter shook his head as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. He took a moment to reach forward to reassure the Art Director everything was under control.

~O~

In the file room, Neal peered around the darkened room with sinking despair. How on earth was he supposed to find all of the mortgage fraud case files _now_? Just as he began to curse his luck underneath his breath, the lights came back to life. _Huh. Just a technical malfunction…_ he thought absently as he continued to shuffle half-heartedly through the shelves in search for the mortgage frauds. There was a reason Neal would prefer for the tax payers' money not to go to waste. If only he could find a clerk… _HA! There you are_. His smile of triumphant was short lived once he noticed the size of the box. He groaned audibly. _So it's going to be one of _those_ days…_ he thought as he picked up the box and headed back to his desk.

~O~

Peter sighed in relief as the lights flickered back on. He'd have to get someone to check on the lighting. He was no expert, but he was pretty sure that the emergency lighting was supposed to come on in cases like that, but the FBI _had _been having a lot of technical malfunctions due to the new security system being installed. He'd send an agent to check on maintenance anyway just in case. Peter drew a breath to order Jones to take the Art Director to see if he would recognize Thomas Holdings—the American Arnold Schwarzenegger if he remembered correctly—when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Peter's instinct had him reaching for his gun just to grab…nothing.

"Looking for this?" taunted the Art Director. Peter looked up and blinked in surprised. The Art Director was against a wall, holding Peter's gun straight at the rightful owner.

"You don't want to do that," Jones warned as every FBI agent whipped out their guns in about three seconds top.

"Oh, but I think I do," he said, glancing at the guns trained on him in disdain. The audible _click_ of a gun echoed in the office_. _Peter's eyes bulged as he slowly glanced to the side. He bit back a gasp in surprise. Behind several FBI agents were masked gunmen, each holding at least two machine guns trained on the Federal Agents. _How the hell did they get in here?_

"Now, I vould think that the reasonable thing to do here vould be for you to surrender," the 'Art Director' said smugly. Peter gave an indecipherable nod to the agents; there was no other option they _could_ take without the result being a bloodbath. The agents slowly put their hands up peacefully as the gunmen yanked their guns out of their hands and started to roughlyshove the FBI agents into a somewhat organized clump in the center of the room.

"Do you have the Director?" the fake Art Director and obvious mastermind behind this whole plan asked two other approaching gunmen. _God, how many henchmen does he have?_ Peter thought somewhat despairingly. He did a quick head count on the gunmen and counted…twenty gunmen. _How did he sneak in twenty of his henchmen without the security or one of the hundreds of FBI agents spotting them? Either he's the next criminal Einstein or the FBI is vulnerable because of the security changing._ Neither reason was that pleasant.

"Yeah, boss," one of the henchmen answered.

"Good…put him vith the others," the leader ordered with a dismissal wave of his hand. The henchmen grinned at each other as they pushed Hughes to the floor with a hard smack. Many agents winced in sympathy. Hughes grunted in pain as he landed right next to Peter.

"You okay?" Peter asked Hughes.

"Fine, Burke," Hughes snapped. He then looked somewhat guilty for his little outburst. "Just trying to figure out how they snuck in here." Peter nodded in understanding. He stared curiously at the boss, who was currently instructing henchmen to search through each of the desks probably to make sure there wasn't any equipment that could potentially harm their little set-up. The boss was depressingly thorough. Then a sudden realization struck Peter.

"Damn it!" Peter muttered underneath his breath. Several agents around Peter looked at him questioningly. "Hughes, Caffery is still getting the mortgage fraud files!" An FBI agent snorted.

"Probably was behind the whole thing," said the snorter. Jones glared at the agent before smacking him on the back of the head.

"Shut it, Clark!" Jones whisper-shouted at him.

"He's a criminal," Agent Clark stated, rubbing the back of his head tenderly. "He can't be trusted."

"Neal isn't behind this," Peter said with conviction. The other agents gave him a doubtful look. He decided to ignore them.

"You sure about that, Burke?" Hughes asked.

"Neal doesn't like guns," Peter said simply.

"Well then where is he?" hissed Clark. Almost as in answer to the agent's question Neal waltzed around the corner with his usual charming mask fixed firmly on his face. He stopped in shock at the scene in front of him. Of course, who wouldn't be astonished to find experienced FBI agents taken hostage in a supposedly secure headquarters? _Move, Neal, move!_ Peter urged silently, hoping that Neal would somehow pick up on his mental vibes. No luck.

"Boss there's one more!" yelled one of the henchman.

"Vell, vat are you vaiting for?" shouted the boss from across the room, his back facing Neal. "Put him vith the others!"

Peter watched as Neal was brutally shoved from behind by one of the henchman and landed with a thud between Peter and Jones.

Neal looked up at Peter and said with a slight smirk, "I suppose you're going to say something along the lines of 'cowboy up' aren't you?"

**End of Ch. 2! **

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	3. Chapter 3

**I'm so sorry for taking forever to update! I personally blame Overhawk and InSilva for writing awesome Ocean 11 fanfics (which I highly recommend you read, btw). Well…here's Chapter 3! **

Thomas Holdings stared intently at the mirror-wall in the interrogation room, hoping that he was scaring whoever was on the other side. He smirked as he remembered all those agents that he…let's say…_discouraged_ from continuing their interrogation. Not that he hurt them…physically anyway.

The fact that the FBI still kept throwing rookie agents to question him was amusing in an astounding way. Mostly due to the fact that the Feds made the classic mistake of judging a book by its cover, not something Tommy expected from professionals, but he wasn't that particularly hurried to correct their mistake. If the Feds thought he was the muscle man of the group that was fine by him. Usually Tommy's appearance gained the mark's trust, or at least make them eager to befriend the scary stranger, unless he was going for the whole intimidate-by-not-saying-moving-or-showing-general-emotion thing. Holdings frowned. Of course, that would make him the muscle man which the Feds assumed he was. He sighed. Apparently the Feds were at least half-right on some things.

Tommy Holdings finally released some of his pent up frustration show by giving an irritated sigh. Not a huge display of emotion, but some of the FBI agents seemed to specialize in reading all the little emotions that white collar criminals revealed. He started to idly wonder where his interrogators were. They left after 'thoroughly intimidating him' and leaving him to 'think about his options.'

Holdings was really starting to get annoyed with this entire FBI interrogation. He has been in here for about three days straight and there hasn't been a single trace of the guys. Sure he didn't expect them on the first day, but he's been here for 72 hours! Of course, he did get caught by making a classic rookie mistake, but the guys were more likely to tease him mercilessly than actually leave him here…except for Badeni. The boss was never one to allow stupid people to be apart of his crew if they played a vital role. Such as gaining the marks' trust and helping to stake out their place for a robbery, for example.

Tommy shook his head in an attempt to get rid of his negative thoughts. He wasn't entirely sure if it worked. _Hmm…think happy thoughts,_ he commanded himself. Of _course, _the guys were going to bust him out. He has been apart of Badeni's crew for years and helped steal billions of dollars in antiques. Not even Badeni would just leave him here to hang and dry. He would be rescued for the challenge of it if nothing else. Tommy hoped anyway. He grimaced minutely. Not exactly happy thoughts, but it was close enough.

Holdings returned to staring broodingly at the mirror-wall, wishing that something would happen soon or else this would be another really long day…

~O~

Neal's head thumped against the cold desk, his fedora pulled down over his face. The classic, slow work day turning into a hostage situation was not really something Neal expected. Seeing a familiar face was something he expected even less.

The ex-con listened idly to the low murmur of the FBI agents who were still trying to make sense of the rapid change in events. The current theory was that the higher ups were just testing them. For what, Neal had no clue. He'd guess field work if he had too, but he hoped that the agents would get that idea out of their head and soon. He might not get an overly fond, glowing feeling whenever he saw some of the agents—as welcoming as their glares are—but he didn't want them to die with a lone hole in their forehead. Possibly the leg, just to teach them a lesson. God, Neal hated guns.

"What do they even want?" an agent asked for about the hundredth time. Neal was pretty sure that was one of the newbie agents who interrogated the thief that he wasn't supposed to know about. Clark, wasn't it?

"We don't know because, shockingly, the answer hasn't magically come to any of us because you had the brains to ask that question again," Cruz snapped. Neal smirked slightly. Apparently he wasn't the only one tired of hearing that question on repeat. Neal noticed Peter looking in his direction with a questioning expression in a very not subtle way. Honestly, for as much as Peter worked with conmen people would think that something would've stuck. The conman sighed. Peter was probably just wondering why he wasn't being his usual charming self and making casual comments about the thieves' motives and tactics that either made the other agents feel angry that a criminal actually offered useful advice that helped solve cases or just thankful that he was on their side. Peter opened his mouth. Neal decided that this was the perfect time to answer Agent Clark's rhetorical question.

"They probably want the usual things that criminals want," Neal said as he pushed up his fedora. "Money, information, a clean record, crew members that the FBI has had for the past 72 hours...the usual." Peter glanced up at Neal sharply. Neal smirked and simply mouthed, "Haversham." His handler seemed somewhat disgruntled, but the other agent didn't seem to believe Neal's assessment. Well, more like _one _agent…

"Money?" Agent Clark scoffed. "That seems a bit…_primitive_ don't you think?"

"Even though that's the motivating factor for many crimes, yes, I suppose it is a bit _primitive_," Neal agreed, not quiet keeping the mocking tone out of his voice. Should he be more polite to a federal agent? Probably. Did that really matter? No…not really. "Some people's greed leads them to a life of crime I suppose…"

"Like you?" Clark challenged. Neal's eyes narrowed for half a second before he flashed a charming smile at the rookie agent. The ex-con saw Peter stiffen out of the corner of his eye at Clark's insult. Damn, he must've caught a flash of something. Peter could read him like no other. Some of the other agents turned to Neal, slightly interested if the new agent could crack Neal's mask. They had no faith…

"I suppose..." Neal's yawn effectively ended Clarks' triumphant expression.

~O~

Peter just managed to catch the flicker of annoyance in Neal's blue eyes when Agent Clark not so subtly suggested that he wasn't any better than the Crazy Austrian and his troop of idiotic minions before the ex-conman pulled his usual charming mask into place. The Federal Agent listened as Neal answered in a casual voice that successfully covered up his irritation, except from him, of course. The yawn might've been a bit much though.

"But why would they steal money from the FBI?" Cruz asked, probably trying to steer the conversation back to the situation at hand. "Why not a bank?"

"Because, my dear agent," said the Austrian in a falsely cheerful voice as he ambled towards the group of FBI agents, "a bank does not have five original Masaccio paintings or the Emperor of Spain's favorite gold statue or records of falsely accused people who vould like to…correct the government's terrible mistake."

"Or some of our crew…" a henchman behind the Austrian muttered. His boss glanced at him for a moment before continuing.

"Now you all know that you _vill_ help us. Villingly or not. Or else I might be forced to…" He sighed as he gave a lazy flick of his hand. The agents looked at him blankly for a moment until one of the Austrian's gunmen whipped out a gun and shot at the FBI agents. The bullet shattered the tile right next to Hughes' leg. Pieces of fake marble flew through the air. Agent Cruz gave an involuntary not-quite-covered-up shriek as the other agents glanced Hughes, worried. He stared coolly back at the Austrian. The boss seemed at bit peeved, but continued as though Hughes had been cowering in fear. "Next time," the mad Austrian said, "I von't miss. None of us vill. It's simply impossible that…"

"Full of himself isn't he?" Peter muttered.

"Aw, but Peter," Neal said softly with a genuine smile, "you can't have a villain without an evil monologue. How else are the good guys supposed to know what their evil plan is and win at the end?"

Peter grinned. "I suppose the good guys could try and contact somebody on the outside."

"Shame the bad guys confiscated our cell phones and probably cut the phone lines," Neal said wistfully.

"Probably?"

"Well, it would be an amateur move _not_ to cut the phone lines and I seriously doubt that amateurs could break into the FBI headquarters and take agents hostage."

"True," Peter conceded. "So, do you know anything about the Crazy Austrian and his troop of minions?" Neal gave a soft laugh.

" 'Crazy Austrian'?"

"Yeah," Peter said shortly.

"Creative."

"Well, he's not exactly _sane_ is he?"

"Oh he's incredibly sane," Neal assured Peter. "His plans just seem a bit…loony."

"Well, now that _that's _all cleared up…"

Neal rolled his eyes. "He just seems insane because he runs on adrenaline and bloodlust, but all his plans are pure brilliance. He always has the best, second best if he must, conmen working with him or he gets old pros to train some newbies. He doesn't like to take risks." Neal could practically see the gears turning in Peter's head as he digested this new information.

"The best…I'm assuming you were once worked with him," Peter stated. He continued before Neal could answer…or not answer for that matter. "Anything else?"

Neal hesitated."He never plans a heist he doesn't think he can complete."

"Lovely."

"Mhmm," Neal hesitated briefly. He looked intently at Peter. "All of his plans are thought out and executed with exactness down to the second."

Peter frowned as he mulled that over. Suddenly, his face broke into a slightly smug smirk. Neal glanced at him worriedly. "I believe the word you're looking for is accuracy."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Same thing."

"Not really."

"Exactness and accuracy mean the same exact thing," Neal insisted.

"Accuracy makes more sense."

"_Anyway, _the point is that the 'Crazy Austrian' is one of the best conmen on the planet...at least in Europe."

"Does someone have a man crush?" Peter teased as he absentmindedly realized that the Crazy Austrian was coming to a close on his 'evil monologue.' He heard Neal snort softly.

"Neal," Peter started tentatively, not sure how the conman would react to his question or, more to the point, if he would lie about it. "Did you—"

"Peter, do you trust me?" Neal asked abruptly. Peter hesitated before uncertainly shaking his head yes. As the federal agent opened his mouth to question Neal on the abrupt subject change, a flicker of movement caught his eye.

"Caffrey!" Badeni called gleefully as he moved toward Neal. "Have to say didn't expect to see you here of all places. In the Louvre sure, the FBI headquarters no." The Austrian gave Neal no time to answer as he hugged Neal like a long lost brother.

"Hey, Badeni," Neal said cheerfully as he patted the Austrian on the back, "long time, no see."

**Hope you liked it!**

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	4. Chapter 4

**Just want to tell mac-and-cheese417 that yes their zombie minions do indeed work. OH! And good news! They didn't eat me! Tried yes, but luckily I just watched Zombieland so everything was taken care of ;) Anyway, thanks to their help here's chapter 4…oh and I think that since ****zombies**** helped me write this chapter it's perfectly reasonable that there's some Neal whumpage in here (is that a warning? Why yes, yes it is)**

Neal Caffery smiled humorlessly as Peter absentmindedly suggested that he had a man crush on Badeni. Admire? It would be hard not to admire the most successful-but-never-before-caught-by-the-authorities conman. But man-crush? Not on a murderer. Neal glanced up briefly from under the rim of his fedora. Badeni's face light up in recognition and potential opportunities. _Damn_. He had been really hoping to remain unnoticed.

"Peter," Neal asked abruptly, interrupting Peter's question which Neal knew he probably wouldn't want to answer anyway, "Do you trust me?" The convict was acutely aware of how long Peter hesitated before nodding uncertainly. He sighed to himself. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to be in any life-or-death situations that would resort on their bond of trust because Neal knew that the federal agents were not going to take the next events in a positive light.

"Caffrey!" Badeni called gleefully as he moved closer to Neal. Part of the ex-conman wondered how much of Badeni's tone was an act, probably most of it. They didn't exactly leave on the best of terms. "Have to say didn't expect to see you here of all places." _Lie number one_ Neal thought, knowing that if Badeni didn't know about his FBI work release, he'd probably be the only one. "In the Louvre sure, the FBI headquarters no." _Great. Let the FBI think that there's going to be a theft at the Louvre and I'll be apart of it. _

"Hey, Badeni," he said cheerfully, striving to match Badeni's tone, as he returned the hug. Great show of affection. It probably looked like Badeni actually missed him. The convict felt the Austrian tense at the mention of his name. _Oh yeah, the FBI didn't know his name. Terrible mistake on my part. I suppose I can probably forgive myself though…_ "Long time, no see." Neal casually glanced at the FBI agents all huddled on the floor. Agent Clark had a strange mix of triumphant smugness and angry betrayal on his face. Peter, Hughes, and the majority of the agents just looked confused. _Oh wait no,_ Neal thought._ More and more of the agents are starting to look like I just murdered their firstborn. All right, Badeni is doing an excellent job of alienating me from the Feds. Good for him._

"Come on," Badeni said as he companionably threw an arm over the Neal's shoulder. "You must simply be dying to catch up with your old friends."

"Course," Neal nodded. The conman tried to ignore the instant angry murmurings of the FBI agents as he was led out of the room.

"Quiet them down," Badeni said conversationally as they passed one of his gunmen. The gunman nodded shortly and shot a few rounds in the air. The FBI agents went instantly silent.

"Hey! This is not social hour!" the gunman shouted in a voice that was probably supposed to be intimidating, but only succeeded in being whiney. Badeni should at least get a half-threatening one to scare the FBI. Neal noticed that Badeni halted after the double doors swung shut behind them. He studied Badeni who was annoyingly stoic.

"So, what's new with you?" Neal asked casually, worried that Badeni would do something Badeni-like now that they were away from the prying eyes of the FBI.

"Hmm…vhat's new vith me?" Badeni wondered out loud. "Let's see…" The Austrian slammed Neal into a wall. Neal's head ricocheted off the wall. "How about the betrayal of a certain crew member?" Badeni hissed. He banged Neal into the wall again for emphasis. "A betrayal that cost me over 10 million dollars and a night of entertainment?"

"Now, Badeni," Neal scolded lightly, ignoring the warm trickle of blood that was making its way down to his favorite jacket. Neal reassured himself that June probably knew a trick to get bloodstains out of clothing before refocusing on Badeni, "that's not new." The Austrian's swift knee to Neal's gut caused the ex-conman to involuntarily groan as he sunk to the ground.

"You always vere a smart-ass," Badeni said regretfully. "Too bad you never learned to control you tongue...then again…teaching people manners vas always a favorite pastime of mine." Neal looked up at him sharply, really hoping he was misunderstanding the Austrian. A small explosion pain in Neal's chest, courtesy of Badeni's foot, caused him to bite his tongue to keep from giving away any reaction. _Okay, no misunderstanding…glad we're on the same page. _The Austrian's foot arced down and roughly kicked the conman in the shoulder. Neal toppled back to the ground as he attempted to fend off Badeni, which wasn't really working. Neal felt big hands grip his shirt and slammed him against the wall. Neal reflexively kicked and was satisfied by an unexpected 'oof.'

There was a pause. Neal locked eyes with Badeni. He mentally swore as he noticed the familiar look of anger take over. _Way to go, Neal! Tick off your already mad assaulter. Always do the smart thing, don't you? _The big hands that grasped him moments before released him. Neal attempted to catch himself when fire erupted in his shoulder. Neal gasped as he quickly blinked back tears. The pain grew steadily worse as Badeni wrenched Neal's arm even higher up his back. Neal groaned.

He felt Badeni's hot breath as the Austrian whispered in his ear. "You know I don't like being hit."

"Not that you're being a hypocrite or anything," Neal gasped, completely failing at sounding normal. He tried to take deep breathes and calm his nerves, but his shoulder's constant throbbing wouldn't let him. He could practically hear Badeni smirk. The Austrian twisted Neal's arm impossibly higher before abruptly letting go. The conman crumpled on the floor, gasping. _Holy _shit _that hurt! _Neal tried to stand back up, but hastily stopped after his hurt shoulder strained in protest. He settled for leaning against the wall instead.

"Oh Neal," Badeni said almost sweetly. Neal glanced up at him, fruitlessly trying to regain some composure. "You don't think ve're done, do you?" A boot colliding into Neal's kidney gave him no time to answer.

~O~

Thomas Holdings paced in his interrogation room, passed caring that his FBI interrogators would know that their interrogation technique worked. That had to be the reason that he was being left alone in the tiny room. An interrogation technique to make him think that everyone forgot about him, that he was alone in this world, that he didn't matter. Quite clever really…

Tommy's eyes swept over the interrogation room. Was it just him or were the walls closing in? God damn claustrophobia. Tommy wiped some sweat from his brow as he attempted to clear his tightening throat. He waited until he was positive that his throat wouldn't squeak before he addressed the FBI agents.

"I have to use the bathroom," Tommy told the mirror. The mirror looked back at him blankly. Tommy continued staring back expectantly until a few minutes passed. All right…that was getting him nowhere. He gave a mental shrug as he pulled a paperclip out of his boot. _It's not like I didn't warn them._ _Well, I didn't. Not really, but it's not like they don't already know I'm a criminal, _he reasoned as he started to pick the lock on the door, mentally laughing at the Bureau's stupidity at having a pick-able lock on the _criminal's_ side of a door in an _interrogation_ room. Holdings gave a quick turn of the paper clip, waiting to hear the lock click open, but the door refused to budge. He glared at the lock. _I suppose the Bureau isn't as stupid as I hoped,_ Tommy thought glumly.

He was still glaring at the door when he saw the handle turn. Holdings quickly stepped away from the door, mentally preparing himself for a lecture that was probably suppose to make him feel guilty about…something.

The door flew open as masked men came into the interrogation room. _What the…_

"Tommy!" one of the masked men shouted happily. "It's about time we found you. Do you have any idea how many interrogation rooms there are?"

"Don!" Tommy greeted, relieved to recognize his friend's voice. "You could've been a bit faster about your rescue, but I suppose it's better late than never."

"You were the one who forgot one of the first lessons he learned and used his own _credit card_," a crisp British voice behind Don reminded.

"But Hank! You know how difficult is for _some_ people to exercise common sense while the FBI is after them!" Don said in mock anger. Tommy glared at both of them.

"Don't we have to leave or something?" Tommy asked. "You know, so the _FBI_ doesn't catchall of us."

"Well, actually there's no rush," said the last masked man, who Tommy instantly recognized as Steve. "You see, Badeni kind of has the agents…hostage."

Tommy blinked at Steve in shock. "What? Has he _lost_ his _mind?_!"

"Tommy," Don said warningly, the thrill of rescuing a crew member steadily wearing off. "You _know_ Badeni call the shots."

"Yeah, but not when his shots are _suicidal_!" Tommy shouted.

"It's not-"

"It is too suicidal, Don," Tommy interrupted. "How the hell do you think this is going to end? You have the _FBI _as _hostages_. I really don't know any other way to spell it out for you."

"Badeni's plan, not mine."

"Oh, alright then, I guess that means you don't have to think about the complete—!"

"Tommy," Hank interrupted a little crossly. "Would you rather still be getting cross examined by the FBI? Stop complaining." Tommy glared at Hank. Hank raised an eyebrow. Tommy looked grudgingly away.

"Fine," Tommy conceded with ill grace, "but we're leaving now, right?"

"Not exactly…" Steve began nervously as Tommy turned to glare at him, "You weren't the main motivating factor behind us breaking into the FBI."

Tommy blinked. _Then why did they break in exactly…?_ "Just an added bonus, I suppose?" Tommy asked bitterly, not understanding how Badeni couldn't care one way or the other about a trusted crew member being held captive by the FBI. Tommy ignored all the pitying looks as he glanced out the hall. "So, are we just going to stand here and chat all day or what?" Hank gave Tommy a resigned look before gesturing for Tommy to follow him.

"Badeni would get you out eventually, you know," Don said, trying, but failing, to defuse the tension.

Tommy snorted. "Before or after I got on parole?"

"They didn't have _that_ much on you," Steve said.

"Really? How do you know?"

"Tommy," Steve sighed, "I'm a computer hacker. It's my _job_ to know." Tommy nodded in agreement as they turned the corner.

"Oh my god…"

**Huh. Well I really wasn't planning on stopping here, but it seemed like a good place to so…yeah…**

**Not really happy w/ how this chapter turned out but maybe at least you liked it.**

**REVIEW!**


	5. Chapter 5

***guilty hands back virtual cookie* Ok. I am so sorry that it's taken me forever to update. I have reasons, but you guy probably don't care. BUT on the bright side…here's chapter 5!**

The angry mutterings of FBI agents surrounded Peter as he stared in disbelief at Neal and the Crazy Austrian sauntering out of the room with his arm casually thrown across Neal's shoulders.

"I _knew_ he couldn't be trusted!" Clark said triumphantly, even though he still managed to somehow look like a beaten puppy.

"Yeah," another agent agreed furiously. "Did you _see_ how friendly they were to each other?"

"-that lying, traitorous-"

"-always knew he had an ulterior motive-"

"-don't know _why_-"

A shot fired in the air cut off the agents' angry rants.

"Hey! This is not social hour!" a henchman shouted in a bad impression of the Crazy Austrian, not that the Austrian ever yelled. He seemed to be more of a silent, deadly type. The FBI agents instantly stilled. The henchman wasn't all that threatening. His gun was.

Peter stared blandly as the Austrian lead Neal out of the room. The conman seemed every bit as comfortable as he would at June's. His ability to blend in any place at any time astounded Peter. That was probably part of the reason all the agents accepted Neal. Well, the agents that worked with Caffrey anyways. Well, worked with Caffrey and didn't instantly dismiss him as an untrustworthy, lying, scheming criminal—which he ended up being anyway. _He sold us out,_ Peter thought bitterly. _He's letting us be taken hostage by a madman and his bloodthirsty henchmen. Maybe I was wrong about Neal running with murderers. He seems quite content with them._ He should've never trusted Neal. He should've never agreed to take him out of that god-forsaken prison. He should've…noticed how tense Neal looked before Badeni hugged him. He should've noticed the underlying anxiety that hid behind Neal's calm voice when he asked if Peter trusted him. He should've…

Peter shook his head to get rid of all the what-ifs and hopeful maybes rolling around. It wasn't going to get him anywhere. Peter long ago accepted that the world didn't always turn out the way you wanted it to. Even if a certain conman seemed to be growing used to staying on the right side of the law…or just hiding the fact that he was breaking it better. The Federal Agent snorted. He should've never trusted Neal…maybe the rest of the Bureau was right. Maybe he _was_ growing too attached to the blue-eyed conman. It apparently stopped Peter from sniffing out about Neal's plot sooner.

~O~

Agent Clark glanced around at the brooding FBI agents in frustrated anger. He could not _believe_ the amount of damage the 'ex'-conman caused the FBI by finally showing his true colors and openly going back to the wrong side of the law. Of course, _he_ always knew that Caffrey was never to be trusted, but certain others—his gaze drifted towards Agent Burke—didn't. The worst part was that the FBI _let_ this happen. The wheels were set in motion the moment Caffrey was officially made a member of the Bureau. Caffrey had probably been planning this for months and the FBI never got an inkling. At least Agent Clark knew that the Bureau will never make _that_ mistake again. Not that it mattered because the FBI agents were still being held hostage by the low-lives that Caffrey betrayed them to. Agent Clark took a small comfort in the fact that if—_when—_they were rescued, Caffrey would be sent to prison for life with a slim chance of parole.

Agent Clark glanced towards the door that Caffrey and Badeni disappeared into, wondering idly what they could possibly be doing. Probably patting each other on the back for their success over the FBI…

~O~

A sharp pain exploded in Neal's chest as Badeni's foot connected with his rib cage. Neal let loose a small shout. He felt Badeni's triumph radiate from somewhere above him as he won the small victory of finally causing an involuntary reaction from the smooth-faced conman. Neal wheezed in a breath, wondering how he even got into this mess.

"Oh my god…" a distantly familiar voice said in horror.

"Badeni! What the hell are you doing?" a British voice yelled.The sound of running feet came rushing towards him until Neal felt comforting hands cautiously checking over his injuries. He cracked his eyes open to see an old contact of his worriedly peeking at the visible bruises and blood on Neal. The conman gave Hank a weak smile before concentrating on Tommy. Boy, he looked ticked.

"I vas simply giving a lesson on manners to our old friend here," Badeni said in a lazy voice, not quite disguising his annoyance of being forced into stopping at the peak of his "lessons." Neal glanced down to do a quick recon of his injuries. Sore shoulder, bruises, scraps. Neal swallowed. He had worse, but still. Ow. Neal snorted in disbelief as he realized that even in a rage, Badeni was perfectly in control. All his injuries were located on either his chest, back, or shoulder, _meaning _that if he ever saw Peter or any of the other FBI agents, all his injuries would be safely hidden behind clothing. Kind of irking really…

"And that's just great, Badeni," Tommy said heatedly. "Why don't you just kill everyone that displeases you? That way—"

"But if I did that, then you and I vouldn't get to vork together," Badeni interrupted calmly. The Austrian smirked as Tommy stilled and took a deep breath before mumbling a not-so-heartfelt apology. "That's quite alright. I'm a forgiving man you know." Badeni ignored Neal's snort. "So forgiving, in fact, that I'll let Neal make up his betrayal by helping us vith our forgeries."

Don blinked before sputtering protests. "But Badeni! I already have the forgeries covered."

"You mean the forgeries the FBI caught you on?" Tommy asked innocently. Don glared.

"Oh, Neal needs to help. He wants to, isn't that right, Neal?" Badeni thumped Neal's tender shoulder companionably. His various cuts and bruises cried out, but Neal forbad any pain to penetrate his mask of polite indifference. Badeni's slightly irritated scowl lead Neal to believe that he was successful.

"I would love to," Neal said in a monotone. Badeni dug his fingers into Neal's shoulder. The conman couldn't quite suppress a wince.

"Now, Neal," Badeni sighed. "People might think you don't mean that." _Wonder why,_ Neal thought wryly.

"I would _love_ to, Badeni." Neal said with fake excitement. "You know how much I enjoy vorking with you. The opportunity is too great to pass—"

Badeni whacked Neal on the head. "Don't be a smart ass. Come on, Don. Let's go pick out the art piece Mr. Caffrey vill help us vith." Neal watched in amusement as Don obediently followed Badeni out the door without the barest hint of hesitation.

"How is he?" Tommy softly asked Hank after glancing briefly at Neal.

"Not deaf," Neal snapped. God he hated being injured, even if it was just a bruising. Everyone always treated him like he was too incompetent to perform the even the simplest task…like answering questions, for instance.

Tommy looked a little abashed. "Sorry…you look like…bad." Neal laughed softly.

"Really? I only feel terrible," Neal answered. The conman felt a pang of guilt as Tommy and Steve flinched.

"Neal," Hank scolded lightly. Neal flushed slightly at Hank's reprimand, but took comfort in the fact that they probably couldn't tell behind all the bruises…except Badeni specifically avoided his face during his 'lesson'…so they probably saw it anyway…oh well.

"So," Neal said lightly, "are we just going to hang around here all day or can we go to the FBI break room?"

"Are you sure you're alright?" Steve asked nervously.

"I'm not going to drop dead," Neal said, slightly irritated. It was just a few bruises. A person would think that his arm got lopped off for all the fuss he was getting. Neal wordlessly took Tommy's outstretched hand and groaned as a sharp pain exploded in his ribs during his attempt to stand up.

"Neal!" Tommy cried in alarm as Neal slumped over.

"Where does it hurt?" Hank asked urgently, instantly kneeling by his side. Neal made a vague gesture toward his rib cage.

"Here?" Hank asked as he pressed his fingers against Neal rib cage. Neal shook his head. "Here?" Another shake of the head. "Her-" Neal bit his tongue as a wave of pain erupted from where Hank's fingers dug into his ribs. Neal gazed up at his three old friends' alarmed expression as everything slowly faded into black…

**You know what would be awesome? If you guys visited my profile and voted on my poll. It's my first one and so far, no one has voted **** BUT the first person who votes will get a prize! *holds out a virtual giant chocolate cake* oh yeah and…**

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	6. Chapter 6

**A/N-The italics in the beginning is a flashback. Just thought that would come in handy…**

**A/N2- all you guys that voted in my poll are awesome! And you know what? VIRTUAL PARTY AT MY PLACE! With free virtual cake, cookies, ice cream, and a plan of world domination involving bubble wrap, pudding, and grammar. **

**A/N3- (yes, there's a third one) I love all you guys who reviewed my story so far! And I would give you all a virtual hug but you might not want to be touched by a random girl you don't know. **

**Anyways…chapter 6!**

_Neal sipped his espresso while vainly trying to hide the look of disgust from his face. Mozzie always told him that he was a picky coffee drinker and Neal was determined to prove him wrong and how do you do that? Practice. Neal scrunched his face as he took another sip from his cup of mud. Maybe if it was more…European. Except Neal was already in Europe and, so far, their coffee was nothing to be proud of. Perhaps a different part of Europe then. The conman glanced up as the chair in front of him scrapped against the concrete. _

_ Blue eyes met unfamiliar brown ones. _

_ "Hello," Neal said after a moment hesitation. "Please sit." _

_ "Thank you," the stranger said in accented English as he sat down comfortably in the patio chair._

_ "From around here?" Neal asked, recognizing his accent._

_ "Vhy, yes," the man smiled approvingly as if he was surprised of Neal's deductive skills of placing an accent he'd heard for over a month now. The conman wasn't sure if he should be insulted or not. "So, vhy are you visiting the fine country of Austria?"_

_ "Business," Neal answered with shrug. "Bridges don't build themselves these days."_

"_Really? You build bridges?" The Austrian asked in interest. "I have a cousin who's helping to build the new bridge. Perhaps you know him? His name is Alexander."_

_ Neal laughed, buying himself enough time to think of a story. He hadn't even been _aware _that a bridge was being built. "Alexander is your cousin? Whoa, did not see the family resemblance. He's a great guy, but gets distracted real easy. I swear, half my job is keeping him on task," he added with a fond chuckle. _

_ The Austrian laughed quietly. "You're a fine liar." _

_Neal froze for a half a second before constructing his face into a slightly puzzled expression. "Pardon?"_

_The Austrian laughed. "Oh, I could get used to you! You're just so…refreshing."_

"_Glad to be of service?" Neal offered, ignoring the growing bad feeling in the pit of his stomach._

"_I truly hope so," the Austrian said. "Neal Caffrey." Neal blinked. Random stranger knowing his name—definitely not good. "You see, I've heard about your vonderful heist of the Manteca Jewel and you've caught my attention. Mostly due to the fact that I vas going after it as vell, but that's neither here nor there." Neal made an apologetic gesture. No harm in trying to get on his potential-assailant's good side. "So, your probably vondering vhat the man who knows your name and real job vants."_

_Neal nodded. "It's crossed my mind."_

"_I vas about to take a new job and when I suddenly realized that I vas in need of a forger," the Austrian studied Neal, "such as yourself. I trust you can do forgeries on paintings as vell as stones?" _

_Neal had a feeling that the Austrian already knew the answer, but replied anyway. "Yes."_

"_Good, good," the Austrian said pleasantly. "So."_

"_So." Neal wasn't going to say it if the Austrian wasn't. The conman honestly had been planning on going back to Paris with Kate and pawn off the jewel there, but this Austrian did not look like a man to cross lightly. _

"_Vould you like to join in?" Neal hesitated as he thought over his answer. "You'll get paid vell," the Austrian assured him. Neal bit his lip. He _did_ have to pay off his dept to Loney…and if he did whatever the job was then he could have enough money to actually _buy_ Kate's anniversary present. She liked it when he did that. Besides, this just sounds like a one-shot deal…_

"_I'm in," Neal finally said. The Austrian grinned._

"Is it normal for someone to be out this long?" a nervous voice whispered. _Kind of sounded like Steve. Wait…why was Steve in my dream? Well, more of a memory, but still. The concept is the same…_

"He's been through a lot. God knows what Badeni did to him," a hoarse British voice answered. _Hmmm…that sounded more like Hank. Good old Hank. Emphasis on the 'old' part. _

"Yeah, I can't believe Badeni managed to break Neal's ribs," a contemptuous voice said…_ok that _had_ to be Tommy. Geez what was with everybody intruding in his dream…memory…whatever. _He_ didn't bust into _their_ dreams. It's called common courtesy._

"Cracked. Badeni cracked his ribs," Hank corrected. _Ouch. Badeni broke some bloke's ribs. Poor guy. _

"Ok, he should be waking up soon," Steve said worriedly. "We gave him enough pain killers didn't we?"

"Probably too much," Hank said. Neal absentmindedly began to hum "**Le Café****"** under his breath. Instantly, the voices above him stopped conversing.

"Huh…he's singing."

"Actually, he's humming."

"About coffee?"

"Apparently."

"At least we know he's awake. Neal? Neal, can you hear me?" Hank asked a little louder.

Hank jumped back in surprised as Neal opened his mouth and belted:

"_Pour bien commencer,  
Ma petite journée,  
Et me réveiller  
Moi je pris un café-_"

"Let's just pretend that's a yes," Tommy suggested with a laugh as the conman continued to sing. Neal cracked open his eyes to see Hank nod his consent while Tommy and Steve were being reduced to giggles.

"Hey, Neal," Steve greeted, seeing Neal's blue eyes open. "How do you feel?"

"Great…" Neal said honestly, then his brow furrowed. "But a little ticked off that Badeni showed up and made Peter and everyone think I'm a no good traitorous criminal…but besides that I feel…great… _Un__arabica, Noir et bien corcé._"

"Note to self," Tommy said with a grin, "Don't get Neal high."

"Hey!" Neal shouted indignantly. "I take offence to that!"

"People not wanting you high?" Steve asked curiously.

Neal contemplated that for moment. "Yes."

"Alright then…So," Tommy began with a mischievous glint in his eye. "What's the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you?"

"Tommy!" Hank scolded. "That is hardly fair."

"Oh c'mon! Tell me that you're not interested."

"I'm not interested."

"Well, you hardly count, Hank," Tommy said dismissively.

"Once," Neal began, "in ninth grade, I was in the guys locker room-"

"Neal!" Hank interrupted. "Stop. Talking."

Tommy pouted. "You're no fun."

Neal giggled. "You're pouting!"

"Am not."

"Are to."

"Am not."

"Are to."

"Am-"

"Hate too break up this little...get-together," Badeni said as he burst through the break room door, with his loyal lapdog at his heel," but Neal and I have business to discuss,"

"He's hardly in the condition for you and to discuss your 'business' with him," Hank said angrily. "You and Don can come by later."

Badeni gave Hank a pitying smile. "Hank, I think you're forgetting who is the employee and who is the employ_er_. Besides, you all seemed to have patched up Mr. Caffrey just fine." Badeni gestured towards Neal's bandaged chest. "So, Don, I'll leave it to you to explain to Mr. Caffrey vhat he needs to do to…appease me. Steve, come vith me. It's time to put your hacking skills to good use." Neal watched as Don nodded eagerly to Steve and Badeni's disappearing forms. _Kind_ _of like a love-sick puppy_. There was suddenly a very bad covered up laugh as Don turned and glared at Neal. _Uh oh._

"Did I say that out-loud?" Neal inquired, more puzzled then worried.

"Yes," Don said shortly.

"Ah…" Neal digested that information, "my bad. So, you have something for me?" Don stiffly opened up the box. _Huh. He should take up yoga. Do that whole relax and become one with your inner self deal._ Neal saw Don's knuckles whiten. _Ah. Must've said that out loud to. The FBI would have a field day if he continued accidentally saying his thoughts out loud._

"Here it is," Don presented without ceremony, apparently deciding to ignore the doped up conman's commentary. "The Emperor of Spain's statue." Neal attempted to focus on the dragon statue, but had no luck. His eyes seemed determined to stay hazy, no matter how many times Neal blinked. The conman felt Don's eyes burning a hole in him as if waiting for a response.

"Huh," Neal offered.

"You were expecting something else?" Don asked coolly, his eyes not wavering from Neal's.

Neal tried to think…what _had _he been expecting? It was hard to put two and four together in his drugged up state. Slightly confused, he attempted to put together a halfway intelligent answer. "A painting of some sort. Not a statue that could take weeks to forge." _Hmm… not bad…almost sounds like something I would normally say. _Neal was also quite pleased to note that he didn't say that aloud either.

"I'm sure you're supposed to just start on it," Don said stiffly.

_Well, that seems pointless. _Every forger knew that the most difficult part of a forgery was the surface detail. If Badeni wanted him to do any part of the forgery, it would probably be the detailed surface, not the typically unimportant starting block. "But who's going to finish it?"

"Uh…me," Don said as if it were obvious.

"Oh! So _you're _the forger that the FBI caught," Neal said in a sudden revelation.

"They did not catch me," Don snapped.

"That's right. They only caught your forgery," Tommy mocked. Don gave Tommy an offended look.

Neal puckered his brow, but was silently pleased that everything seemed less sluggish. _Now, what would high me say right now…?_ "Well, that's not much better." Hank and Tommy grinned at Don's frustration. Neal silently patted himself on the back. If Hank and Tommy didn't know he was acting then there was no way Don would. Of course, Hank and Tommy _could_ know he's acting and were deciding not to inform Don of that little tid-bit, but he still wouldn't have anything to worry about. Unless, they're waiting to talk to Don away from him. Then he would have to—Neal intentionally halted his thoughts in their tracks. _Geez, since when have I been so paranoid? I've been hanging around Mozzie too much. It's bad for my health. _Of course, Moz insists that it keeps him away from prison. _Even though it's looking like I'm heading there anyway_, Neal thought glumly as he remembered all the betrayed looks the federal agents had when he left the room with Badeni.

"So…get started," Don ordered.

Neal blinked. He'd forgotten Don was there. "No."

Don gave Neal an incredulous look. "Why not?"

"It's hot, Don!" Neal whined. He planned to use the 'I'm too high to do anything' card for as long as possible. Neal watched in delight as Don sighed in exasperation. _Oh, this is going to be fun._

~O~

Steve followed Badeni's leisurely pace worriedly. Anyone else would think that a leisurely pace was a good thing—those naïve people would probably think it meant no worries, no problems. Those people would be dead wrong, pun intended, at least when it applied to Badeni. The angrier Badeni grew, the calmer he appeared. So right now, this calm, leisurely pace meant one thing and one thing only. Something, or more likely some_one,_ has ticked Badeni off and the boss in a bad mood never boded well for any of his employees…_or henchmen _Steve added silently as they passed yet another brainless goon with a gun.

"So," Steve started timidly trying to sound casual, "what's wrong?"

Badeni shot the hacker a sideways look. "Vhat gives you the impression that something's wrong?"

Steve shrugged jerkily. "I have picked up something since I began to work for you."

"I hope you picked up something after five years," Badeni said sardonically as he burst through the doors leading to the main office area. "I need you to hack into this." The Austrian gestured towards an ordinary-looking computer. Actually, it wasn't even a computer. It was a laptop.

Steve tried to ignore the FBI agents' glares. "What's so special about it?"

Badeni snorted. "You don't actually expect our lovely friends," he gestured towards the agents, "to not hide their most valuable information. Do you?"

"Hiding in plain site," Steve said appreciatively. "clever."

"I'm glad you think so," Badeni said. "Now hack."

Steve nodded briefly as he sat down in front of the computer.

~O~

A Federal Agent silently watched as the hacker attempted to hack on the arguable most important computer in the FBI Headquarters. If he succeeded in obtaining the information in there or worse _changing_ it…the federal agent bit their lip to stop the thought process from continuing_. That _won't_ happen,_ the agent thought,_ but no matter._ _If it does…_the agent patted the detonator button hidden inside their jacket pocket comfortingly. _If it does happen, then I can always resort to plan B…_

**Well, that ended differently than I expected. Hoped you like the drugged up Neal bit!**

**Yeah, that French song that I have Neal singing is about the 'evils of coffee' and I just couldn't resist putting that in here. Just type in 'Le café' on YouTube and it should pop up. I highly recommend you listen to it. It's **_**really**_** catchy.**

**Oh and REVIEW!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Yes, I'm finally posting after my terrible writer's block, but don't worry! I got over it (obviously) thanks to MrsRobertPattinson. Everyone thank her – or is it a him? Look at me keeping the mystery alive ;) – for her very obvious and helpful solution. Oh, and on a completely unrelated note I'm going to not do something to see if a particular science experiment between me and Junior is a success. **

"I'm hungry," Agent Clark complained. Peter Burke snapped out of his reverie to turn and stare incredulously at the agent, wondering how he could even _think_ about food right now. They were being held hostage by a madman who might put a bullet through all of their heads on a whim and Clark was thinking about _food?_ Not to mention that they were in this particular nasty situation because a certain 'reformed' white collar criminal betrayed them for nothing more than a few million dollars. Peter's growling stomach interrupted his steadily darkening thoughts. He grimaced. _Alright, maybe some food would be good, especially deviled ham and a warm mug of Italian roast coffee. _ Peter's mouth watered slightly at the thought.

"Well, I want a shower, but you don't see me whining about it," Agent Cruz snapped. Peter sighed. Agent Cruz had a temper on the best of days and this day didn't even come close to being referred to one of those.

"Don't _hear_ you either," Jones muttered under his breath_. Definitely not one of the better days if Jones is turning into a cynic. _Peter hid a sigh as Agent Cruz glared at Jones. _Better stop this argument before it begins._

"Well, they have to feed us," Agent Phillips, a veteran agent, said, saving Peter the trouble of interrupting the potential argument. Phillips and Peter used to be partners actually, but their styles didn't mesh so it ended after a couple months. Phillips was a good agent nonetheless. "They wouldn't want their hostages to starve to death."

"Even though you von't starve after missing just one meal," a calm voice chimmed behind them. The federal agents all turned to stare at Badeni. _Someone likes to make an entrance,_ Peter thought. "You Americans do seem fond of your food." Badeni's gaze lingered over Phillips protruding stomach.

"We Americans would also appreciate a bathroom break," Hughes said.

Badeni gave a heartfelt sigh. "I suppose I can't have your bladders bursting"—Peter rolled his eyes—"Boomer, vhy don't you escort our group of fine law enforcers to the bathroom."

"Sir!" Boomer saluted. Peter saw a flicker of annoyance go across The Crazy Austrian's face before he gave a nod and turned to the computer hacker, who was still working on the laptop that contained the FBI's 'most valuable information.' "All right agents! You're going in the bathroom in groups of five. Women are going to with Terminator" Boomer gestured towards the masked man with an Arnold Schwarzenegger body and Peter quickly identified him as Thomas Holdings—the main suspect in the Museum of Ancient Antiquities robbery, "over there and the men are staying with me."

"But the Director is staying vith me," Badeni added almost as an afterthought. "Ve have…things to discuss."

"No," Peter said. Then he blinked in surprise. He hadn't meant for _that _to come out.

Badeni narrowed his eyes slightly before delicately raising an eyebrow. "Vhat gives you the impression that you, a hostage, have a say in…vell anything that goes on here?" His henchmen snickered.

"Well, if you're going to take him away without saying anything then we'll all assume the worse and things vill…get difficult," Peter said, not allowing himself to even smirk at Badeni's reaction to his slight mocking.

"Vhat's your name, agent?" Badeni asked.

"Peter Burke."

Badeni snorted. "Of course you are," he murmured to himself. "Vell, I can assure you that I von't be killing the Director…it's not convenient to me for him die just yet." The agents stared at him in appalled shock.

"Right," Boomer said with the ease of someone who was used to not-so-empty threats coming from the madman he called his boss, "So you five, come with—"

"Hank! Tommy! Steve! Get back here!" a voice carried from the FBI break room.

The gunmen froze.

Boomer and Terminator shared a look.

Badeni snapped his fingers at some of his henchmen. "Take the Director to the interrogation room," he spat. "I have some business to take care of." Badeni turned his heel and marched out the door.

Peter had no idea who the moron who yelled some of the gunmen's names was, but he was prepared to send a bouquet of flowers to his funeral.

~O~

The Federal Agent relaxed their grip on the detonator as the computer hacker stretched and got up from his seat. The Agent had been watching the hacker closely, waiting for any sign that the hacker succeeded. It was the hacker's job to break through the laptop's security, and the agent personally didn't think that Badeni would react well if the hacker failed, but the agent also had orders. Orders to make sure the laptop's information wasn't tampered with using any means necessary. The Federal Agent felt a small feral smirk play across their face. The agent knew one thing for certain: that they could accomplish their job _much _easier than the hacker could ever accomplish his.

~O~

"So," Don began with forced patience, vainly trying to get Neal Caffrey to focus on his job, yet again. Badeni had them on a schedule after all and Caffrey was making them, or more specifically, him behind. _God, he could honestly say that he never expected to babysit a drugged up legend. _Don scowled. _At least, he _used_ to be a legend, until he started helping the Feds._ "What would you do next?" Don fought a groan as Caffrey continued to ignore Don in favor of his doodling. He was beginning to regret giving the conman that piece of paper. Originally, he gave it to him so that Neal would be able to draw his ideas down and help him focus on the forgery. Bad idea. Don hid a sigh as he, once again, walked Neal through the forging process. "Do you need to make the ledge?" Don gestured to the stand that the golden dragon was perched on. "Neal!" The conman looked up blankly from his paper, which he was now somehow turning into a swan. "Do you," Don repeated slowly, "have to make a ledge?"

"Well," Caffrey began with a frown. Don allowed himself a small grin. Finally, he was responding. "You need to really start thinking about taking anger management. You know it's unhealthy to bottle up your feelings like that, right?"

"I'm not keeping my feelings bottled up," Don snapped. The pet-convict's eyes danced at Don's outburst. "Besides, I'm not an angry person."

"Exactly!" Neal exclaimed, waving a triumphant finger in front of Don's face. "It's entirely unnatural for someone to be this calm when they're working for Badeni." Don's eyes grew narrow. "Actually," the conman continued thoughtfully, "it's unnatural to be that _loyal_ to Badeni. Not even his mindless henchmen are as loyal to him as you are and they get paid more."

"Do not," Don interjected.

Neal grinned at him. "Wanna bet?" Don shook his head. He really needed to stop arguing with a high Neal Caffrey. Don could feel a migraine sneaking up on him. "Anyway, back to the anger management thing. You were right. You're not a naturally angry person, _but_ you overcompensate the anger you feel whenever the Crazy Austrian talks to you on other people because you're scared of Badeni and his milk curdling ways. That's my theory," the conman finished happily.

Don's fist clenched. "You've been hanging around the Feds too much," he hissed. "You always assume that your theory is right and you just plow your way through until you get an answer."

Inexplicably, Neal Caffrey broke into a fit of giggles. "Did you just compare me to a plow?"

Don groaned. Just when he thought that Caffrey was over his little high spout. _You'd think that after half an hour that the drugs would be out of Caffery's system,_ Don thought with a shake of his head._ When _did_ Hank give Caffery the pain killers, anyway? They shouldn't be lasting this long…_

"Hank!" Don yelled out the door. "Steve! Tommy! Get over here!" The forger waited a moment to hear a response. None. Sighing, Don turned back to Neal, who was still giggling.

"You do realize," a not-very-amused voice said from behind him. Don jumped as he whirled around to stare at his silently fuming boss, "that the FBI agents have a very good chance of hearing you yell the names of the people currently holding them hostage?" Don tried unsuccessfully not to gulp as Badeni stared at him evenly. "So, _vhat _is the reason you deemed vorthy enough to blow three of your friends' covers in a middle of a heist?"

"Well, you s-see—" Don stammered. _Oh God, I sound like Steve. _He cleared his throat as Badeni watched him in cold disdain. "You see, Caffrey is still high off the pain killers they gave him and I was wondering when they gave the meds to him because he's still high and—" Don stuttered to a stop as Badeni held up a hand and turned sharply around to glare at Caffrey.

Don tried not to gawk as Badeni began to slowly clap. "Bravo, Neal. Vonderful performance." Don gave Neal a startled look that soon gave way to irritation. He did not like the idea that Neal had been conning him all this time. "Acting high to avoid vorking. I have to say that is a first." Badeni continued to smile as he strolled over to the now alert conman and pulled out his cigarette lighter.

"What can I say?" Neal shrugged helplessly. "I'm a born slacker."

Badeni laughed humorlessly as he flicked the lighter on. Caffery watched the tiny flame in fascination…or wariness. Don couldn't tell. "Oh, ve both know that isn't true. You're a natural born _liar _not a slacker." Blue eyes regarded him coldly. "But vhat vould it take to make you admit to our dear friend here" Badeni gestured towards Don, "that you vere fooling him all along?"

"But Badeni," Neal said with astonishment. "I wouldn't think that Don would need me to tell him since you just spelled it out yourself. Didn't realize how much lower your standards for recruits were getting. Besides, I'm sure Don forgives me for 'fooling' him. Ve _are _friends."

Badeni's eyes narrowed. "Don't mock me, boy!"

Neal looked alarmed. In a mocking sort of way Don noticed. "Vhat? Me and Don do get along, it's high time you start to accept it, old man."

"I am not your old man," Badeni said. Don never understood how Badeni could manage to not sound angry when on the inside he was boiling. He could never do that.

"Sorry," Neal said with a tip of his imaginary hat. The fedora that Neal had been wearing earlier fell off during his walk with Badeni, "elderly gentlemen."

Badeni smiled at the conman. Well, barred his teeth really. "Neal, Neal, Neal, you just never learned did you?" The pet convict watched Badeni's lit cigarette lighter apprehensively as Badeni steadily moved it closer to Neal's bare arm. Caffery eyed the tiny flame lazily as it began to lick the underside of his forearm.

"I think all my teachers would disagree with you," Neal said in a remarkably even voice.

"Really?" Badeni asked with interest as he leisurely moved the flame up and down Neal's forearm. "How so?"

Neal seemed completely ignorant of the fact that Badeni was slow roasting his arm as he continued the conversation. "Yep. They all liked me…except for Mrs. Sparks, but that's one out of…what fifty?"

"You tell me. You're the math whiz." Badeni stopped moving the lighter and stared in fascination as the Neal's skin started to swell into a bright red. Don wasn't sure how much more how much more of this Caffery could take.

"It doesn't take a math whiz to add," Caffrey gasped. Badeni smirked.

"Valid point."

"Stop!" Neal finally yelped. Badeni grinned in triumph. "You're right. I was pretending to be high."

Badeni calmly moved the cigarette higher up Neal's arm. "And…?"

Neal sighed. "I'm sorry that your recruits are getting dumber."

Badeni let the cigarette lighter linger over Neal's burns.

Neal flinched as the smell of burning flesh reached Don's nose. Neal turned to Don. "Sorry for making you think I was high."

Badeni snapped the lid of the lighter close with a satisfied nod. "Very good." The conman glared up at him with his left arm drawn in protectively against his chest. "You do learn. Now, put ice on it and go back to vork," Badeni dismissed. "Make sure he does a decent job and that he doesn't leave this room. Ve can't have him getting a message to the Feds, can ve?" Don shook his head mechanically. Badeni didn't spare Neal another glance as he turned his heel and stalked out the door.

Don studied Neal with his peripheral vision. Neal was currently attempting to pull his sleeve over his burn—not a smart idea. A hiss informed him that Neal discovered that little tid-bit. Don watched as the conman painstakingly rolling his sleeve back up and away from his burns. Neal looked up sharply at Don.

"Are you trying to be subtle?" Neal snapped.

Don stared down at Neal in what he hoped was an intimidating look. "Shouldn't you be doing something that you're not currently doing?"

Neal snorted. "I could do without the Badeni wannabe act though." Don glared at Neal as he studied the statue with a critical eye. "I need a block of oak wood, a carving knife, a magnifying glass, ten century through sixteen century melted down gold, shoe polisher, sand, a spork, and a paintbrush."

Don blinked.

"Unless that's too much for you," Neal added sarcastically.

Don's eyes narrowed. "I can get them."

"Have fun," Neal said without looking up at him as he went back to inspecting the statue. _Note to self, don't get on the bad side of Badeni or be around Neal after he gets burned,_ Don thought as he went on the scavenger hunt to look for Neal's forgery supplies, trying to forget the silent battle between Badeni and Caffrey.

**Did you know 'spork' is not a real word? I had no idea. None at all. I was so surprised when the red squiggly line appeared under it. **


	8. Chapter 8

**I am so sorry for taking forever to update! and I sadly have no excuse whatsoever for not updating sooner so…thank randomchick51 for being so persistent **

Mozzie tapped his finger impatiently on the diner table as he checked his watch again. 12:30. Neal was late. Which was unusual—Moz could count the times Neal was late for anything on two hands and a foot—but Neal had a late start today and the Suit might deem it appropriate for Neal to work through his lunch break. Moz shook his head. Why Neal worked for the Feds he had no idea. Well, actually he did, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Mozzie glanced up as the bell on the restaurant's door chimed and hid his surprise as a familiar figure sauntered through.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Mozzie said, taking a sip of cold coffee to hide his surprise as Alex slid in the chair in front of him.

"Hey, Mozzie, nice to see you too," Alex said sarcastically.

"What do you want?" Mozzie asked suspiciously. Alex never just came by for social visits. His point proven by the fact that Mozzie hadn't even been aware that Alex was in New York or North America for that matter.

"What? No social niceties?" Alex asked with a wounded expression. "No 'how have you been' or 'what brings you here'? I'm hurt, Moz."

"Sorry," Mozzie said, not quite keeping the mocking out of his voice, "Why are you here?"

"Business," Alex said vaguely.

"In New York?"

"It is America's playground."

"Pretty sure that's Las Vegas," Mozzie corrected, "and I'm sure you being in New York has nothing to do with Neal being out of prison."

Alex shrugged nonchalantly. "I heard rumors about his recent work release, but I wasn't prepared to believe them."

"Curiosity killed the cat, Alex."

"Wow, Moz, even _I _know that quote. You must be slipping."

"Then say the second part of it."

"There's a second part?"

"Yes, now who did you say was slipping?"

Alex flicked a stray piece of hair out of her face. "Do you not want to hear about the tidy little profit I'll be making in about"—she glanced down at her watch—"six hours?"

"Does that 'tidy little profit' involve selling stolen artifacts from a museum?" Moz asked partly to be polite, but mostly because it was in his nature.

"Mozzie, you know me so well, but no actually. Clean records"

Mozzie looked at Alex in surprise. "How clean?"

"From the source."

Mozzie snorted. "The FBI? What idiot would try and break into the FBI? All the while _not _getting caught."

"Badeni."

Moz coughed in his drink. "What? Badeni is _here_? Here here? As in _New York_?"

"Yeah," Alex said slowly, looking slightly puzzled by Moz's outburst, but she hid it under her usual layer of sardonic indifference. Mozzie swore.

Growing alarm cracked through her mask. "What?"

"Badeni and Neal left on very bad terms and if Badeni broke into the FBI…" Mozzie trailed off, not liking his train of thought. He quickly stood up and gave Alex, who was now the most panicked Mozzie had ever seen her, a forced smile. "Great seeing you again, Alex," Moz said as he beat a quick retreat. If Neal bumped into Badeni, there was no telling what would happen. Badeni could easily welcome Neal like a long lost brother as he could to beating Neal within an inch of his life. Mozzie suspected the latter. Badeni wasn't the type to forgive and forget. Mozzie swore again as he hailed a taxi.

~O~

Badeni watched Steve run his fingers worriedly through his hair. So far, the computer hacking was anything, but successful and Badeni hated it when they failed. Or, more specifically, he failed. He had a reputation to uphold and he couldn't let some young upstart think that he was getting sloppy. Of course, he'd have to find a young upstart to succeed him, but that was a different matter. Many of his 'friends,' as they called themselves, insisted that he didn't _have_ to have a successor, but he wanted—needed—his legacy to live on. He used to have the perfect successor in mind and, besides the fact that his successor was squeamish when it came to violence,he was perfect. Until he betrayed him…Badeni refocused on the computer hacker in front of him. Alright, time to speed this process along.

Badeni leaned over so his mouth was right next to Steve's ear. "Problems?" he hissed, getting a slight thrill at seeing Steve jump. If he was feared, then he'd be obeyed.

"No-o," Steve stuttered. "Well, actually, yes, but nothing I can't handle."

Badeni arched one eyebrow. "Really."

Steve tried vainly not to gulp as he nodded.

Badeni stared down at him until he was sure Steve was getting ready to go on a nervous breakdown. Some people were so easy to intimidate. "Vell, you better keep going, shouldn't you?"

Steve nodded hastily as he spun back around in his chair and started typing on the computer with new ferocity. Badeni smiled in satisfaction. There, now the computer hacking will go by faster. His smile turned to a frown as he saw his "protégé" searching the room and putting certain items in a box.

"Vhat are you doing?" Badeni asked in mild exasperation as he walked up behind Don.

"Oh, hey, Ba-er Boss," Don said. Badeni regarded him coldly. Don should really learn to refer to people by code names. He was a liability if he didn't. Of course, the Feds already knew his name, courtesy of Neal, so it didn't really matter for him, but Don should still know better. "I'm just getting Caffrey's forging supplies."

"And how is that going?" Badeni hid a frown when he saw a spork amid the pile of 'forging' supplies. _What_ Caffrey needed a _spork_ for he had no idea.

"Well, I'm having trouble finding the gold, but—"

"He sent you to find gold," Badeni said, hiding his disbelief. Not at the fact that Neal asked Don to find such an unlikely object, but that Don was willing to do it. God Caffery was right. His recruits were getting stupider.

Don nodded. "Yep. Ten through sixteen century."

"That's very generous of him to give you such a diverse selection," Badeni said dryly.

Don nodded uncertainly.

"And _vhy_ are you finding every single petty thing Caffery asks you to?"

"Well…I thought—"

"I don't pay you to think. I pay you to do your job and that does not include taking orders from Caffrey."

"But how will he be able to finish the forgery before we leave?"

Badeni snorted. Don was so thick at times. "He's not suppose to finish it today, we're going to take him vith us vhen ve leave."

Don looked up in shock. "But the Feds…"

"Already think he's on our side," Badeni finished with force patience. He sighed to himself as he was once again forced to spell the plan out for Don. Neal had always been bright enough to work the subtle details out for himself during the brief time he worked with Badeni. "Now go back and watch your pet convict." Don nodded as he hurriedly exited the room. Badeni watched Don's retreating figure with slight despair. If Don's dad hadn't bribed him…well, Don would never have begun to work for him in the first place. Don never thought outside the box and was a mediocre forger at best. Not the best combination for a criminal mastermind's protégé which Don's father expected him to turn his dim witted son into. _Maybe if Don had some sort of fatal accident…_Badeni mused. But he'd have to have a fallback guy to take the responsibility for Don's accident in case Don's father grew suspicious. Perhaps Tommy…he was growing more and more defiant the longer Neal was their prisoner. Hank to, but he was being far more subtle about it. Badeni glanced up at the clock with a slight frown. Hank's group that went to the bathroom should already be back here by now. He doubted that the agents would be able to take Hank down, but he wasn't entirely sure about Hank's loyalties. Badeni gave one last lingering glance around the room, before waltzing toward the bathrooms…just in case something happened.

~O~

The Federal Agent gave one final glance to the computer hacker before their group left to go to the bathroom. The Agent were pretty sure that the hacker wasn't having any luck hacking into the computer and was likely to continue not making any progress on the it while they were gone to the bathroom. The Federal Agent almost felt sorry for the hacker. With his boss breathing down his neck and no doubt delivering some sort of threaten, the hacker was more prone to make more mistakes than before, but that was a plus for the agent's plan.

The henchman leading their group stopped outside the bathroom. "Alright you have five minutes. Make the most of it." The Federal Agent smiled grimly. There was absolutely no chance that the hacker would make any notable progress while they were gone. The Federal Agent was sure of it.

~O~

Jones watched as Peter paced in the bathroom. He honestly didn't know what Peter was trying to accomplish. They were only in here for about five minutes and all the possible escapes—window, vents, door—didn't seem like very plausible options. Even Neal would have trouble planning a quick getaway. Jones sighed as he thought of Neal's supposed betrayal. He knew that the evidence that Neal betrayed them was overwhelming, but Jones couldn't help, but feel that Neal was just as surprised as they were when Badeni burst into the FBI Headquarters.

"What?" Peter asked sharply as Jones sighed, still on edge after Neal. His boss was taking it hard, but no more than Jones expected him to. After all, Neal and Peter had been on the unlikely track of becoming friends. You just had to look past their constant bickering and the fact that Neal "allegedly" stole more than half of the criminals that the White Collar Unit went after. Oh, and that Peter sent him to prison…kind of a biggie.

"Nothing, Peter," Jones said lightly before adding a little uncertainly, "just thinking about Neal."

Peter's face turned hard while Agent Clark and Phillips shared a look. "What about him?" Peter finally asked.

Jones tried not to gulp at Peter's expression. "I'm just not convinced that Neal actually…betrayed us."

Agent Clark snorted. "You're kidding me right? It's pretty obvious that Neal knew that Badeni was coming."

"Obvious how?" Jones asked, slightly annoyed at the rookie agent for butting into the conversation. "All we really know is that Neal and Badeni used to work with each other."

"Hmm…let's see," Agent Clark began sarcastically, "it can't be because he knows Badeni. Or the minor, yet important fact that he's a _criminal_ and that he has been an enemy of the FBI longer than he's been our friend. _Or—_" Jones' heart sank as he saw Peter nodding to Clark's rant.

"Neal has always had problems with authority, especially if they keep him from Kate," Peter added softly. Agent Clark looked delighted that he had the one of the senior agents present on his side of the argument. Jones gave Peter an incredulous look. Nodding along was one thing, but adding on to Clark's absurd rant was quite another.

"So I take it that you're done with your bathroom break," a British voice from the door said icily. Jones looked up to meet the hard eyes of Boomer. "Follow me." Jones tried to catch Peter's eye as they dutifully followed Boomer, but the federal agent deliberately looked away.

~O~

Hank had originally listened at the door of the bathroom for any possible escape attempts, not that that was likely, but you never know with these federal agents. But then the federal agents started to talk about Neal's "betrayal" and Hank was delighted to discover that not all of the agents believed that Neal actually betrayed them or at least doubted he did. This would be the one time that he was actually glad that Badeni's plan wasn't working.

Hank's small smile quickly vanished as one of the other agents started to laugh scornfully and go on a self-righteous rant about the unlikelihood of Neal's innocence. Hank opened the door, but none of the agents turned. They were too engrossed in the scene in front of them. His eyes narrowed as he saw Neal's handler of all people actually _nod_ with the self-righteous agent's rant and then add a reason to why Neal might betray them. The fact that Peter would use Kate as a reason sickened him.

Hank interrupted the agents with a cold voice. "So I take it that you're done with your bathroom break. Follow me." He turned and led the agents back to the lobby. He only paused to catch Agent Peter Burke by his elbow. One of the agents glanced back worriedly, but continued walking. "You do know that Neal is very loyal—even to people who use his weakness against him," Hank hissed in his ear. The federal agent looked at him in shock as Hank shoved Neal's keeper forward with disgust and continued to escort the agents to the bullpen.

~O~

Peter replayed Boomer's voice over in his head, trying to ignore the guilt that had been gnawing at him ever since he opened his big, fat mouth and mentioned Kate. Kate was a…_delicate…_issue and he should've never brought her into the discussion. Even if Neal betrayed them. _What do I mean 'if'? Of course Neal betrayed us,_ Peter thought to himself and no. He was not trying to convince himself. He needed no convincing.

"_Even to people who use his weakness against him"_ Peter shook his head. Where Boomer came off sounding like an angry father in all of this? _Of course, Neal always did have a way of wrapping everyone around his little finger,_ the federal agent reasoned as he nodded absently to Lauren as they passed a group of female agents being led to the bathroom by Holdings. But Boomer had sounded so…protective of Neal and Peter wasn't entirely sure that Neal could gain that type of loyalty in a matter of hours. If he could though…then this could all be a semi-elaborate ruse set up by the ex-convict to convince the FBI agents that he was still on their side. When, in reality, he was conning them into dropping their guard so he could accomplish…something.

Peter shook his head again. That ruse didn't seem like Neal's usual style. He disliked unnecessary risks while he was pulling a con—which was understandable—and putting faith that the betrayed-feeling FBI agents who would more likely shoot him the first moment they laid their eyes on him than listen to the silver-tongued conman would be a very unnecessary risk.

_Unless_…Peter barely allowed himself to hope, _unless this isn't a ruse at all. That would mean that Boomer was just angry_ _that the "Feds" didn't trust that Neal was just as surprised as we were when Badeni took us hostage, _Peter remembered Neal's shocked face when the conman turned the corner just to see the FBI agents surrounded by masked gunmen. Not even Neal could act that well. At least, Peter hoped he couldn't.

Then Badeni hugged Neal like a long lost brother and that's when things got downright _odd_ now that Peter thought about it. If Neal had in fact worked with Badeni on this particular heist/ hostage situation then Badeni shouldn't have drawn attention to the fact that he knew Caffrey. He should've made sure Neal wouldn't be suspected by treating him like any other hostage. That way, Neal could still be somewhat trusted by the FBI and he could keep the agents off the trail of Badeni and his crew after they escaped, but Badeni _hugged_ Neal…what did he gain from that? Absolutely nothing. What he _lost _was a double agent…or triple agent depending on how you looked at it.

So why would Badeni hug Neal unless…_unless,_ Peter thought excitedly,_ Neal never knew that Badeni was coming and when Badeni saw Neal, the Crazy Austrian did the first thing that he could think of to get Neal out of the FBI's—albeit fragile—trust. He acted friendly towards him. _Peter felt like he just discovered a door where he was positive a wall had been just a moment ago. His grin of Neal's innocence slowly faded as a horror struck him. _Oh no…all this time_ _I didn't trust that Neal was nearly just as innocent as the rest of the FBI. _Peter thought back to Neal's hastily asked question before Badeni hugged him. "_Do you trust me?"_ and Peter nodded. _Nodded!_ A flood of guilt slowly filled him. How could he have done this to Neal? Obviously, the other agents would be doubtful, but Peter knew Neal. After all those years chasing him and then being with him nearly every day since Neal's prison release…Peter failed him the one time Neal asked to be trusted.

Peter closed his eyes. He was the biggest hypocrite. He jerked them open as he heard a noise down the hall that lead to the break room. Peter glanced toward the rest of the group to notice that he was trailing behind. He slowed down even more as voices came toward him or—to be more accurate—laughter.

"I can't believe that they fell for it!" a slightly familiar voice laughed. _Was that Holdings_? Peter frowned. _He passed by only a few minutes ago…and who fell for what? I really, really hope this has nothing to do with Neal._

"Yeah," a frighteningly familiar voice answered. Peter stopped in his tracks. _Neal?_ "You would think," Neal continued with what Peter was certain was a smile. Peter grinned as he heard his friend's voice, "that with all that they get paid, they'd be smarter." Peter's grin froze as blood slowly drained from his face. His eyes narrowed as he glared the direction of Neal's voice, but of course the conman was nowhere in sight, as an angry wave washed over him, drenching any hope, guilt, relief or any positive emotion he was currently feeling toward Caffrey right out of his system. _Why do I keep coming up with excuses for that criminal?_ Peter thought bitterly. _I should learn that some people just can't be taught…no matter what his potential. I can't believe I kept making excuses for him when he's openly mocking the FBI to the rest of his criminal friends._ Peter felt disgusted.

"Trying to take the scenic route?" Boomer asked contemptuously, interrupting Peter's soon-to-be murderous thoughts. Peter shook his head wordlessly as he hurried towards the other agents. Mentally berating himself for ever believing in the conman. Obviously, Neal treated the FBI agents as a joke and wrapped Peter around his little finger so tightly that he would always believe Neal's innocence. Peter had a sudden urge to lash out at something. How could he be so stupid?

~O~

Neal stared at the block of wood curiously. Well, more of the block of _fake_ wood. Neal didn't know how Don could've gotten a block of real wood—it wasn't like there was a convenient tree hanging around in the middle of the FBI Headquarters. Neal had actually been surprised when Don returned. Not by the fact that he didn't have any gold. No, that had been expected. What surprised him was the fact that it had taken Don that _long_ to finally realize that finding ten to sixteen century gold in an FBI building was nearly impossible. Of course, the FBI didn't trust Neal with more than they possibly had to, but he felt that it was safe to assume that they didn't have antique gold lying around. The only slightly worrying thing during Don's visit was that Don had hinted, accidentally and with obvious bitterness, that Neal was leaving with them. A not-so-happy thought.

Neal glanced at his "bodyguards" with slight interest. They looked exactly like the classic bad guy henchmen—dark, big, and holding a gun. _Probably just as stupid as the classic henchmen too. I wonder if…hmm…_Neal hid a slight smile as he thought of the new possibilities opening up before him and, without warning, a plan sprung to mind. Yes, it was poorly thought out and stupid, but Neal really didn't have anything else to do. It was worth a shot. Who knows? He might actually succeed.

Neal walked purposefully toward the door.

"Um…what do you think you're doing?" Henchmen One asked, blocking Neal's path.

Neal stared down at him disdainfully, a hard feat when the person was a head taller, but Neal managed. "_Someone_ has to tell Badeni about the forgery and you incompetent buffoons wouldn't understand the…_technicalities_ of it."

Henchmen Two stirred angrily. "We have orders to keep you here."

Neal sighed heavily while he pinched his brow. "Orders given to you in front of FBI hostages, who need to think that I'm betraying them for this plan to succeed." Neal stumbled slightly over what the agents were supposed to think, but he didn't think that Henchmen One and Two noticed. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw Henchmen Two glance uncertainly at Henchmen One.

"But we're really not supposed to let you leave…and Boss didn't say anything about letting you go…" Henchmen One trailed off uncertainly.

Neal gave them a scornful look. "Badeni was under the mistaken impression that you two would actually have the brains to figure out this minor part of the plan. How wrong he was."

Henchmen Two glared at Neal. "How long are you going to be gone?"

Neal hid his relief at his success as he rolled his eyes. "Obviously, you don't know the first thing about forgeries or you wouldn't have to ask, _but_ since I know what your intelligence level is…"

Henchmen Two interrupted Neal angrily. "You don't have to mock us!"

Neal paused in mock-shock, secretly pleased that one of the henchmen had obvious anger issues. "You know what 'mock' means?" he asked in utter astonishment, hiding a grin as Henchmen Two's face turn to an ugly shade of purple. "I was expecting a more—how to put this politely—_simple_ word like 'bug' or 'tease' maybe even 'annoy', but 'mock' " Neal shook his head in wonder. " 'Mock' is almost at the verge of sounding _clever_."

"Why, you!" Henchmen Two snarled as he attempted to lunge at Neal. The conman yawned as Henchmen One restrained Henchmen Two.

"Calm down," Henchmen One unsubtly hissed in Henchmen Two's ear. "Sorry, sir. Uh…continue on your way."

"Now that I have your permission," Neal sneered as he sauntered out of the break room and strutted down the hall. It was only when he was out of the henchmen's eyesight that he finally allowed himself to grin. Finally, he was out of the break room. Now all he had to do was escape a building from the 21st floor without using the elevators and dodging the Crazy Austrian and his team of henchmen. All without any tools or outside help to speak of…_fun_.

**Alright, this chapter is actually not finished. Well it IS but like I was going to put more in it. It's just that it was already a decent length and I needed to update so…tada! At least I pretty much already know what I'm going to put in the next chapter so (hopefully) the wait won't be as long. SO…**

**What will Neal do know that he's out of the break room?**

**Will Peter ever trust Neal again?**

**What made Neal say THAT? (hopefully u know what I mean. No? think about what Peter heard Neal say. YEAH. Get it now?)**

**Will Mozzie save the day? **

**So many questions… that will be answered…at some point in time**

**Hope it was worth the wait!**

**REVIEW!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Warning: language, but well deserved in my opinion**

Alex watched Mozzie's retreating figure in a definite _not_-panicky way. Why would she be panicking? Moz only completely freaked out when she mentioned Badeni being in the same city as Neal. That definitely didn't cause warning bells to go off in her head.

She always knew that Mozzie had a bad case of paranoia, but the reaction she got when she mentioned Badeni…that bordered on protectiveness, even fear for Neal's safety. If what Mozzie said was true, which she had no reason to believe that it wasn't, then Badeni bumping into Neal probably wouldn't lead to a friendly get together over coffee. Badeni was without doubt one of the most hostile thieves she ever had the pleasure of working with, a stark contrast of Neal's nonviolent mannerisms, actually. _And with Neal's new position as an FBI consultant…she had pretty much handed Neal over on a platter. Why_ hadn't she seen this before? She'd known for _months_ now that Badeni was planning to swipe records clean for the highest bidder. She'd known to thoroughly clean the highest bidder's record he would have to go to the FBI to eliminate the hard copy and a stroke of luck had it that the computer to eliminate the copy from the FBI's database would just so happen to be at the same place as the hard copy for a few days. The Bureau was so stupid sometimes.

Of course, at the time she hadn't known that Neal and Badeni weren't getting along, but still. That was no excuse. She should've figured out years ago that Neal and Badeni would never truly mesh as partners, but she left anyway to seek a greater fortune in Spain. She'd actually believed in the whole 'opposites attract' thing and left Austria without a hint of good-bye.

Alex stood abruptly from her chair as she saw that Mozzie's desperate hailing for a cab finally paid off. She sprinted towards the street, narrowly missing a dog pulling a roller skater and yanked open the cab's door.

"I'm coming with you," Alex said slightly out of breathe.

Moz glanced at her in annoyed disbelief. "Um. No. You're not."

"Why not?" Alex countered, glaring at Moz.

"Because you can't that's why," Mozzie snapped as he glanced worriedly at the cab's clock. 12:48.

"Oh 'because I can't'," Alex mocked. "Why didn't you say so before? Who am I to contradict such fabulous reasoning?"

"Why do you even want to help him?" Moz asked angrily. "You haven't seen him in _years_."

"Mostly due to the fact he was in prison and besides, I honestly doubt that you ever visited Neal in prison anyway. Oh no. Not the Great Mozzie. Can't let 'The Man' get you now."

"I meant _before_ the Suit arrested him," Moz hissed.

Alex glared down at Moz furiously, mostly at the truth in his words. "And…?"

Mozzie's glared locked onto hers.

A nervous cough interrupted their stare-down. "Um…," the cab driver began nervously. "You ready to go?"

Alex turned to Moz, one eyebrow raised, daring him to try and kick her out.

Moz gave Alex one final, haunting look. "Fine," he muttered before raising his voice to the cab driver. "5026 Riverside Drive and make it snappy." The driver nodded hurriedly as he turned into traffic.

"That's not the FBI Headquarters," Alex stated.

"No, it's not," Mozzie agreed. Alex gave him an exasperated sigh. "What? You want to go to the FBI Headquarters without a plan, guns blazing?"

Alex's eyes sparkled in amusement as she saw the cab driver touch his cross necklace nervously, probably wondering what he had inadvertently gotten himself into. "No, I guess not," She frowned thoughtfully, "but where are we going?"

"Someplace where we can decide what to do," Moz answered cryptically. He recognized her irritated glare and added with slight exasperation. "Neal's landlady, June's house."

~O~

Neal mentally went over the FBI's layout in his head. Most vents were on the top of the wall, so he'd have to climb on something to get in them, but Neal wasn't familiar enough with the vents to know where exactly he'd have to go because, for some reason that he couldn't quite fathom, the FBI weren't entirely forthcoming with giving an ex-felon the blueprints to the building.

The problem was that Neal had a perfect escape in mind that involved a cat that the janitor wasn't supposed to have, electrical breakers, a bell, some string, duct tape and a metal ruler. Neal sighed. Of course, to do all that he'd have to be in the lobby that was currently occupied by gunmen and ticked off federal agents. If only he didn't try and figure out different possible escape routes while he was at his desk. He blamed mortgage fraud cases. It wasn't _his _fault that his mind wandered while reading them.

Sadly, he couldn't apply that plan here for lack of a cat, electrical breakers, a bell, and string. Back to square one.

He could stay low in one of the offices, but they were mostly glass walls and the thought of Badeni finding him cowering under a desk somewhere was not very appealing. Also, the fact that the phone lines were cut made it a moot point anyway.

Neal idly wondered how Badeni and his henchmen snuck into the Headquarters. Badeni was the 'Art Director', the real one was probably gagged unconscious somewhere; a few of his henchmen were probably disguised as FBI agents; several probably snuck in from the roof vent, another reason he shouldn't use the vents for fear of getting caught when he was close to freedom; perhaps some even hid in closets, waiting for their cue. Neal shook his head. These thoughts were useless. He should stop speculating on how Badeni got _in_ and start speculating on how he should get _out._

Neal stopped short when he heard voices around the corner. The conman pressed himself against the wall as he inched closer to the voices. _Please be FBI, please be FBI, _Neal chanted in his head._ Huh. Never thought I'd be thinking _that.

"So, why are we here?" one of the voices asked.

"Boss said we need to guard this window, so that's what we're doing. _Guarding_ _the_ _window_," another voice answered. Neal hid a sigh. More of those stupid henchmen. Neal quickly weighed his options. He could either 1) Go back the way he came and risk running into Don or a possible smart henchman. There's bound to be one of those somewhere 2) Find Hank or Tommy and ask for help and make them to risk the wrath of Badeni or 3) Hope the henchmen guarding the window were just as stupid as the ones guarding him and send them off on an errand. Neal glanced at his watch. 12:45. He left the break room about ten minutes ago and Don would probably be back to "supervise" any second now and that would raise the alarm to look for him. Neal recoiled at the thought of involving either Hank or Tommy in this. He didn't want to add to the body count through his own incompetence of not being able to find a simple escape route in a gunmen filled FBI Headquarters. So, that left option three. Neal sighed. If he kept sending henchmen on errands someone was bound to notice something.

The conman swept a hand through his hair and loosened his shirt a bit to make it look like he'd been running. Trying not to think about the likelihood of this pathetic excuse for a plan failing, the ex-felon ran around the corner.

"Oh thank God I found you!" Neal exclaimed as he skidded to a halt in front of the henchmen. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the window cleaning platform behind the two henchmen. So that's how some of Badeni's crew came up here. It also served as an added bonus for a very simple escape route for a certain soon-to-be wanted conman. The two henchmen pointed their guns at him. More out instinct then the fact that they were seriously considering shooting him…Neal hoped anyway. "Whoa! We're on the same side here!"

"Aren't you that Neal Caffrey fellow?" one of the henchmen asked, showing no sign of putting his weapon down.

"Yeah," Neal said with a bright smile, silently cursing at the fact that they recognized him, "listen one of those Feds attacked Burger. He's bleeding…a _lot_. He needs help, so I went to get someone. Found you guys."

Neal cut himself off abruptly. That was, without a doubt, one of the worst cover-up stories he had every told. What was wrong with him? He couldn't let all the pressure catch up to him _now_. _It's not like the FBI trusts you anyway,_ an evil voice in Neal's head sneered. _You were always just an 'asset' to them. Nothing more. No, Peter trusts me! _Another voice argued. _And Jones, Cruz, and even Hughes were coming around. _Neal tried to clear his head. The henchmen were saying something, but he missed it because he was arguing with himself which was alarming because he was usually more alert than that. He was _always _more alert than that. On the bright side, the henchmen lowered their weapons. On the not-so-bright side, Neal didn't know if they believed him or not, but the guns not facing him was a huge plus.

"…So where is he?" The taller henchmen asked, his talking apparently coming to an end.

"In an office in the hallway right by the bathroom," Neal lied smoothly, not knowing if the 'he' was his Burger or someone else entirely, but Burger seemed like a more logical choice.

The tall henchman nodded. "Okay, I'll stay here and you go help the Burger guy."

"Why me?" the other henchman almost-whined. "You're the one who wants to get on Badeni's good side."

"Well, someone has to watch the window—"

"You'll get distracted—"

"I'll watch the window," Neal volunteered, crossing his fingers that his luck would continue.

The taller one snorted. "Um. No. No offense, but we don't trust you."

_Damn it._ Neal shrugged. "Okay."

"Besides," the other henchmen pitched in, "you have to show us where Burger is. Who is Burger anyway?"

"Jimmy," Neal answered absentmindedly, not entirely sure why he was using the name from the story Peter told him. Probably on the off chance Peter would get the message that he wasn't on Badeni's side. Problem was that since there was no Jimmy Burger, he couldn't exactly lead them to him. "I can't."

That made them pause in their silent argument of who was going to help the bleeding person. _Geez, you'd think they'd get moving to help an injured colleague. He could be bleeding to death. _Then Neal remembered all the violence he had been exposed to during the brief time he worked with Badeni, during which the Crazy Austrian had apparently been "holding back" for the sake of Neal's "squeamishness."

"Can't what?" the tall henchman asked with a daintily raised eyebrow.

"Can't show you the way to Jimmy Burger."

"And _why_ not?"

Neal grimaced. "I didn't really tell you that the Fed got me too." The conman raised his shirt to show he bruise ridden chest.

"Holy crap," one henchman murmured as he openly stared at Neal's obviously fresh bruises and the dried blood that soaked through his chest bandage. He looked at his bandage with slight despair. He'd forgotten it was on there. Damn it. Neal waited in silence with a pain-filled expression, something not so hard to accomplish under the circumstances. His ribs felt like they were on fire. Apparently running around and attempting to escape aren't good for cracked ribs. Who knew?

"Is that a boot print?" the small one whispered. The tall one not-so-subtly shoved him before turning to Neal.

The tall one cleared his throat. "What happened?"

Neal gave a half-hearted grin. "Hell hath no fury like a Fed scorned."

The henchmen stared on sympathetically.

The tall one gave a sharp gasp. "Wait, so you were the one better off?"

_Finally._ Neal resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead nodded.

The tall one cursed. "Jamie, you stay with Neal and I'll go help Burger."

The other henchman, Jamie, nodded his consent to the tall one's disappearing back.

Jamie turned to Neal. "So are you—" He did a double take. Neal had disappeared. "Neal—!" A sharp pain hit the back of his head as the room tumbled into darkness.

Neal looked down at Jaime's slumped unconscious frame with a slight queasy feeling. He hated violence. He really did. Neal dropped the stapler and turned to examine the window. He wasn't sure how long he had. The tall henchman might come back any moment once he realized he had been duped and Neal was not an expert on how long a person stayed unconscious so Jaime could wake up at any moment.

The window was easy enough to open, hardly the most challenging lock Neal ever faced. The conman quickly stepped onto the window cleaning platform and was greeted by the sun warming his face and a cool breeze ruffling his hair. _Ah, freedom. _Neal grinned as he turned to press the 'go down' button on the platform. Neal's finger paused an inch from the button that would lead him away from Badeni and possible servitude for life._ What about Peter?_ the thought rose unbidden in his head, _and Jones, Cruz, Jerry and the rest of the FBI._ Neal paused. They _needed_ him. _But they don't even trust me! _ Peter's face rose in his mind's eye. Neal slowly turned away from the button to his salvation and toward the FBI Headquarters. He couldn't leave Peter and the rest of the FBI at the mercy of Badeni. Could he? Neal was still debating his predicament when he heard the sound of running feet, probably, Neal imagined, what the tall guy would sound like when he found out there was no Jimmy Burger. Neal hesitated for a brief moment. The running feet came closer. Almost on instinct, he spun around and hit the 'go down' button and quickly jumped off the now moving platform and into the FBI Headquarters.

Neal did a quick sweep of the room and found a janitors closet that would serve his purpose nicely. He just managed to pick the lock and close the closet door behind him when the tall henchman rounded the corner, huffing and puffing.

Loud cursing could be heard, so Neal assumed that he saw the still unconscious Jamie and the rapidly disappearing window platform. The tall henchman then tried to revive Jamie through a process of gentle questions, yelled questions, smacks, and threats. Nothing appeared to work. There was heavy breathing for a while and Neal could just picture the tall henchman's murderous eyes scanning the room, crying for blood. After what felt like an eternity, Neal heard the tall henchman sprinting out of the room. Neal counted to ten in his head before he cautiously opened the door. Not seeing any threat, the conman slid out of the door and closed it softly behind him. Now was the time for stealth. His brief luck had run out with the tall henchman. Every member of Badeni's crew would be looking for him now. Guess it was time to try out the vents after all. See what he could do for the federal agents.

A giant hand came crashing down from behind him and covering his mouth was easily one of the most terrifying moments of his life. Neal didn't bother to try and scream, but instead aimed a kick at his attacker's leg. His attacker 'oof'-ed in pain as he spun Neal around.

"Geez, Neal," Tommy complained as he released him to rub his shin. "Can't take a joke?"

Neal felt faint with relief. It was just Tommy. Not a henchman that would turn him into Badeni. The ex-conman forced a grin as he saw Tommy's worried expression. "Sorry. I'm just a bit…on edge."

"I'll say," Tommy agreed. He glanced at Jaime's unconscious form. "You do that?"

Neal nodded.

"You're not supposed to be out are you?"

"Tommy," Neal said in exasperation. "_Why_ would Badeni let me be out?"

"A simple 'yes' would do," Tommy said mildly as he started to walk down the hall. Neal hesitated before following him slightly behind so Tommy's big bulk would hide him. Neal was 82% sure Tommy would help boost him into a vent. "So, how'd you escape?"

"Oh, I convinced the henc-ah-gunmen who were guarding me that I was on their side," Neal said nonchalantly, trying to find a vent. He could've sworn there'd been one by here.

"Sounds like there's a story in that," Tommy prompted.

Neal bit back a retort as he looked at his friend's face. The ex-conman sighed in defeat as he related his conning of the henchmen who were 'guarding' him, his arrogant comments and all.

Tommy howled with laughter as Neal came to a close on his story. "I can't believe they fell for it!"

"Yeah," Neal grinned. Tommy's laughter had always been infectious. "You would think that with all they get paid, they'd be smarter."

Tommy continued to chuckle as they turned a corner. "I never understood why you always thought the gunmen get paid more."

"Hey, you've never seen what amount of money gets paid to who," Neal said with a shadow of a grin. Neal's eyes brightened as he finally saw what he'd been looking for. "Tommy," his friend looked back at him curiously, "boost me up here would you?"

"The vent?" Tommy asked. "Are you sure?"

"No, Tommy," Neal answered sarcastically, "I would rather we just stood here and talked about it."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "No need to be sarcastic." However, Tommy crouched down and held his hands together.

"Thanks, buddy." Neal placed one of his feet in Tommy's hands and started to open the vent.

"Vell, isn't that just touching?" a familiar voice cut in.

Neal felt the buzz of victory slowly die in his chest. "Hey, Badeni. Long time no see." Neal slowly removed his foot from Tommy's hands and turned around to see Badeni staring at him with a very pleased expression.

"Yes, Neal, I hear you've been on the loose for about-" Badeni checked his watch "- 35 minutes now. Have to say, I expected more." Neal felt his eyes narrow. The Austrian turned his attention to Tommy, who was doing a remarkable job of keeping his face blank. "Tommy, Tommy, Tommy," Badeni shook his head sadly, "I expected so much more from you…" Badeni calmly brought his gun up.

Neal's heart began to pound. He would not allow Badeni to shoot either one of them, especially not Tommy. So, Neal forced a snort which, thankfully, turned out more scornful than frightened. "A gun, Badeni? Really? How cliché. Just when I when I was beginning to think you were cleverer than the rest. You pull something like this. I suppose that just makes you…_average._ Or uncreative. Whichever makes you feel better." Neal smirked as he saw Badeni's left eye twitch.

"Oh, Neal," Badeni said almost sweetly as he aimed the gun at Neal, "you're going to regret that." The ex-conman jumped as he heard the shot being fired, waiting any second to feel the piece of hot metal pierce his skin. A cry from behind caused Neal to spin around and gasp in horror as he saw Tommy lying on the floor clutching his injured shoulder in pain. A pool of blood was rapidly forming around Tommy's injury. A soft laughter interrupted Neal's reeling thoughts.

"Oh Neal," Badeni's voice patronized, "you didn't honestly expect me to shoot you did you? I need you and, besides, Tommy is no more use to me now that you've tainted him."

"You shot Tommy, you bastard!" Neal shouted from his position by Tommy's side. He frantically pressed his jacket against Tommy's wound, blinking back tears as Tommy's eyes rolled back. "Tommy! You have to stay awake! How else will you hear the rest of my story?" Neal started to smile as Tommy's hazel eyes rolled weakly forward and connected with his. Then all Neal saw was white. "Tommy!" A sob raked through his body as Tommy's eyes remained closed. Neal felt the blood from Tommy's bullet wound soak through his jacket and onto his hands. It still felt warm. "Tommy! I swear if you don't get up _right now_ I'm going to tell Mary Ella that you killed her cat!"

A laugh behind him made a rage and hatred brew together.

"Really? That vas Tommy? Vho vould've thought?" How could Badeni sound so – so normal? So casual? He just _shot _ Tommy and he's acting like they were discussing a wonderfully orchestrated heist. With a cry of rage Neal flung himself at Badeni. Badeni only had time to blink when Neal full body tackled him.

"How is that funny?" Neal shouted as he continuously pummeled Badeni with his bloody fists. Badeni blocked most of them. Neal jabbed his elbow into Badeni's stomach. Badeni groaned, but didn't relax his guard. "You killed him! You killed him, you no good, arrogant, son of a bitch! How can you fuc-" A swift blow to the jaw cut Neal off and pairs of hands yanked him off Badeni. That Bastard Austrian's henchmen had broken up the fight. Figures. Since when did Badeni ever fight fair?

Badeni delicately wiped some blood off his face before turning with an icy gaze to look at Neal. He calmly walked up to him and hit Neal in the kidney. Neal refused to make a noise. Badeni leveled a glare at him. "You know, Neal," he began pleasantly. "I didn't kill Tommy. Sure I aimed the gun, but you pulled the trigger. If you hadn't forced him into helping you then I vouldn't have been forced to kill him. See vhat a domino effect you have on people you love? Someone better varn Kate. I vould hate for something to happen to her as well." Badeni raised his fist and swung it down on the side of Neal's face.

The last thing Neal saw as he fell to the ground was Tommy's still figure surrounded by blood. Then everything turned black.

**Is it weird that I'm starting to hate my fictional character?**

**Yeah, so… hope u liked it.**

**REVIEW!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry for taking forever to update. I kinda got side-tracked by a REALLY good story (A Sky High fanfic called War and Peace. Check it out on my profile if you're interested.) Then I just wasn't in a white-collary mood (but I got over it. Yay!) After THAT school started and I'm sorry to say that I forgot about this story, but here it is (after a kindly worded PMs from randomchick51 reminding me that I do, in fact, have a story in desperate need of updating.)**

Peter silently wondered if his 'caretakers' would stop him from beating his head against the wall. _Probably not, they wouldn't want to stop potential entertainment. They're looking a bit bored. _Peter briefly wondered if he could use that to his advantage. Of course, as soon as he tried anything they'd be on high alert, ruining any chance he had on escaping after that. _If _he tried anything, he'd have to coordinate with the rest of the agents. Fat chance of that working though. He could try and get Jones' and Lauren's attention, but Peter doubted that he could pass for subtle in a room full of conmen. The gunmen didn't look like the smartest bunch of criminals around, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Dallas taught him that. Dallas…now _there_ was a messy situation—almost as bad as Frankfort.

After four minutes of trying to reminiscence about the old days, Peter concluded that it worked better with another person. The federal agent sighed as his thoughts inevitably turned to the elephant in the room—or at least the elephant in his head—Neal.

He could not believe how well Neal played the FBI, played _him_, all this time. He thought he could read Neal. It turned out that all he could read was the façade under Neal's charming exterior that lead Peter to believe that he was reading real emotion. It sounded complicated, but Neal was a conman. He hid his emotions for a living. Peter shook his head angrily as his blood began to boil when he remembered all the conversations they had. Neal probably got a kick out of helping out with his personal live—gave him more leverage to use when the time came.

Peter's mouth went dry as sudden realization hit him. Dear God…Elizabeth. His heart began to beat faster as different scenarios ran through his head. El gagged and tied to a chair, a jagged cut emphasizing her pale face, salty tears streaming down her face as she tried to scream through the duct tape. Peter shuddered. Being thrown into a van, a sniper target on her, Neal cocking a gun…the agent shook his head. No, no, no, Neal did _not_ do violence. At least, that's what Neal always told him. Besides, Neal wouldn't go there…would he? Peter was beginning to doubt everything he thought he knew about the blue-eyed conman. _Neal doesn't like guns. He wouldn't hurt a person he knows you care for, directly or indirectly. You know this, _a voice in his head scolded. Peter would call that voice stupid if it managed not to sound like El.

"I can't believe we're stuck like this," Agent Clark stated, talking quietly to Peter.

Peter glanced at the newbie, wondering briefly why he was talking to him. _You did agree with him in the bathroom, _the El voice pointed out. Peter gave a microscopic grimace. He still shouldn't have brought Kate into that. There was a line and Peter crossed it. _More like gallop across it, _the Elizabeth voice said snidely. His Elizabeth voice was apparently in need of an attitude adjustment.

"We're FBI," Agent Clark continued, undeterred by the lack of reaction from his higher up. "We shouldn't get into situations like this."

Peter made a noncommittal noise.

"We should've known that Neal was bad news. It was stupid for the FBI to ever make a deal with him," Clark said with such venom, Peter had to wonder if Clark knew he was talking to the leading advocate in taking Neal into FBI custody. Peter was thinking no. "He was eager enough to show his true colors when the time came, wasn't he?"

Peter frowned at Agent Clark's statement. How exactly was Neal eager to show his 'true colors'? Neal didn't go on an evil monologue or smile like he just pulled a successful con when he rounded the corner to find the federal agents hostages. He was, or at least _seemed, _just as shocked as the rest of them. Neal never revealed his true colors during the 'find and take all possible hostages' situation either, which made a certain amount of sense. Neal didn't know which way that the con was currently going so he hid his true intentions, until Badeni hugged him. Peter could've groaned out loud, but managed to stop himself. Why did Badeni have to hug Neal? It made absolutely no sense and it made his 'Neal-is-evil-and-betrayed-you-theory' that much more unlikely. All the Crazy Austrian _accomplished_ was a loss of a valuable double agent among the hostages and the chance to have Neal continue to leak classified FBI information after this whole mess was sorted.

Peter mulled over different scenarios in his head, but what did he gain? _Nothing, _his El voice said, he ignored her. Badeni could've hugged Neal knowing full well that Neal would become untrusted by the agents, but that Peter would believe that Neal was actually innocent and somehow convince the rest of the federal agents that Neal was actually on their side just to have Neal double cross them at the end. There. Peter smiled smugly. He figured it out. It seemed complicated. Something Neal might pull, except—Peter hated excepts—there were too many loose variables for Neal's taste. _That_ Peter knew for certain. The plan was sounding less and less like Caffrey the more Peter thought about it.

His theory seemed a bit weak though. More than a little weak, it had an almost…desperate feel to it. _Not desperate!_ Peter argued with himself, which might possibly mean that he went insane. Oh well, he always knew that Neal would push him over the edge someday. _I'm simply being…thorough…logical…damn it. _He still believed that Neal was innocent. Stupid small voice. Peter felt his imaginary Elizabeth glower at him. He refrained from apologizing.

The office door slamming open snapped Peter out of his thoughts and stopped Agent Clark mid-word. Apparently he was still talking. Who knew? A ticked off gunmen stormed through. The computer hacker glanced at him curiously while Boomer walked over to the angry gunmen with a slight frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" Boomer murmured, but his voice carried over the now silent FBI office.

The out of breath gunmen glared at Boomer before hissing his response. Peter strained to hear more—he actually noticed that all the federal agents were trying to eavesdrop on the henchmen's conversation without giving the impression that they were eavesdropping, most were failing—but only managed to catch a few words: "escape" and "Jamie" and then something about a burger.

Peter frowned when he saw Boomer's expression lighten and then immediately turn blank, but Peter might've just been imagining things. It's hard to read a face when the majority of it is covered with black cloth.

Boomer quickly gestured for a couple more henchmen to follow him as he briskly walked out of the room. Well, that was cryptic. Peter frowned as he glanced over to Jones and Lauren. They both shrugged in response. His gaze shifted back to the double doors that the gunmen left through, wondering if whatever got them riled up had anything to do with Neal…and if it was necessarily a good thing if it did.

~O~

Hank had to restrain himself from breaking into a run, which was much harder than he anticipated. He had no idea how bad it was, that's what scared him. All he knew was that Neal was attempting to escape and he needed to find him before Badeni did. Travis and the other henchmen were liabilities, but Hank was sure he could come up with an arrangement that would suit all parties if—_when_—the time came to it.

Damn it, why did Neal have to try and escape without asking for help? He could've easily coordinated something with him or Tommy, but Neal probably didn't want to ask for their help for fear of Badeni's wrath on them. He must not have figured out that Badeni was planning on getting rid of him and Tommy one way or the other. Funny, Hank thought Neal would've caught that, but he was in the middle of a very stressful situation—hell, they all were—so Hank was willing to forgive Neal for that. Hell, he would forgive Neal for that stunt he pulled in Rome—not Alex though—if Hank found him before Badeni. Of course, he'd have to scold Neal for his stubborn stupidity, but maybe after he got Neal to safety it would be the appropriate time for a lecture.

"How long did you say you left him?" Hank asked Travis.

"I left to look for this 'Jimmy Burger' and left him with Jamie. I came back a couple minutes later to find Jamie on the ground and the window platform heading down."

Hank briefly wondered if Neal was on the platform. Probably not. Neal might have poor impulse control and a die-hard romantic, but he was steadfastly loyal to his friends. Unfortunately, Neal's ungrateful keeper earned Neal's loyalty so he probably wanted to see if he could possibly help the situation. Hank sighed. If he was right, he'd have to add another lecture for Neal about impulse control and trusting the right people.

"Hank!" a voice cried in surprise. "Where are you going?"

For the love of all that's holy.

"Neal escaped," Travis answered, as they paused, much to Hank's distaste. "We're going to get him."

Hank glanced at Don's shocked face before his gaze wondered to the clock behind Don's head. 1:03. They better get moving. "Don, either join us or move," Hank said curtly, pushing Don aside.

Don blinked after Hank before falling in step beside him.

"You know," Don started, "I really don't see—"

A shot covered up whatever Don was saying.

Hank didn't hesitate. He took off running. This wasn't part of the plan. There was supposed to be no killings, no gunshots. That could only mean that Badeni's temper got the better of him. Shit. Echoing boots on tile told Hank that the others weren't far behind. It was Neal, Hank just knew it. He could feel his heart beat down in his stomach as blood rushed to his head. He really hoped his gut feeling was wrong. That Badeni didn't actually shoot someone Hank cared about.

Hank spun around the corner and skidded to a halt at the scene in front of him. Brief relief flowed through Hank as he saw Neal with no extra holes in his body. Saying that Hank was shocked to find Neal pounding Badeni with his fist would be an understatement. Was that blood? Hank froze as he felt people brush past him. Neal was shouting and swearing at Badeni, but Hank's brain refused to process the words. Everything was happening too fast. Badeni's fist collided with Neal's face. Don and Travis jerked Neal off Badeni. Hank watched as Badeni delicately wiped off the blood on his face as he turned to face Neal. He punched him in the kidney. Hank felt anger narrow his vision. Hank had to give Neal credit though. He didn't utter a sound. Badeni's eyes narrowed as he taunted Neal. Hank blinked.

Badeni's fist struck one jab at Neal. Hank watched in horror as Neal fell to the ground, making no attempt to catch himself. Badeni gave a satisfactory smirk as he turned and said something to Don.

Hank finally snapped out of it and ran over to Neal's crumpled form. He still hadn't moved. He yanked Neal's arm up and closed his hand around it. Relief flooded through Hank. There was a pulse. He wiped some blood away from Neal's eye comfortingly. His small smile froze as his eyes connected to the sticky blood that was lying around Neal. It was too much to be just from Neal's injuries. Facial injuries bleed a lot, but this…Hank was almost afraid as he lifted his eyes away from Neal. Horror greeted him. He managed not to hurl, but only just. Tommy…Hank felt numb as he shifted over to Tommy's stiff form. Tommy…he registered Neal's bloody jacket over the still bleeding shoulder. Tommy…his brain refused to cooperate as he reached two fingers to check for Tommy's pulse. Hands yanked him back.

"Hank!" a voice hissed in his ear. "Don't be mental!"

Tommy…his brain finally connected the shoulder wound and Badeni's smug smile together. It demanded blood. Hank gave Don a glare that could level mountains. Don let go of him instantly, with an unfamiliar glint of fear in the back of his eyes. Hank turned sharply to Badeni, blood pounding in his ears. His fingers twitched. He wanted to tear Badeni limb from limb and he still felt like that wasn't enough.

"Badeni," Hank said softly, "what happened?"

"Neal escaped. I thought it vould be best to discourage him from ever doing that again and causing us to become even more behind schedule," Badeni said, the picture of nonchalance.

Hank's hands clenched into fists. "And what about Tommy?"

"A very unfortunate casualty," Badeni said with a careless shrug. Hank tensed, preparing to lash out at that stupid, smug Austrian. Hands rested casually on his shoulders, restraining him. Hank silently cursed those idiotic, loyal henchmen Badeni seemed to have an endless supply of.

"I believe you have to go watch over the hostages," Badeni said, not bothering to make it sound like a question. Hank briefly nodded, calculating the odds of him escaping the henchman's grasp and throttling Badeni to death. Not good enough for Hank's liking, but he wasn't sure if that meant that he wouldn't still do it. The hands prodded Hank to get a move on. "Oh and Hank?" Badeni's calling voice caused them to falter. "Don't think that I'll forget this."

Hank looked back at Badeni. "I won't forget this either." Hank gave a toothy smile. Badeni's eyes widen slightly in surprise at Hank's obvious show of defiance. The hands steered him through the door.

"So, what happens now?" Don asked uncertainly when he thought Hank was out of hearing. Hank smirked, wondering the same thing. Hank chose the harder path. He had made it clear to a Badeni that there would be consequences to his actions. Tommy would be revenged. Neal would be freed. Steve could finally go back to Canada and to Tina. Hank smiled, not knowing the last time he felt so light hearted.

~O~

Mozzie paced around Neal's room, dissecting the information Alex gave him. "So, what you're saying is that Badeni has been here for about a week."

Alex nodded. "Just enough time for him to case the headquarters."

Mozzie grunted, his mind already far away.

"Moz?" Alex asked with a hint of uncertainty. He paused in his pacing to glance back at Alex. "What happened between Badeni and Neal?" Moz blinked. Alex stared back at him levelly, not showing any sign of her underlying tension. Mozzie sighed as he sat down heavily across from Alex.

"It's a long story…"

"Mozzie—"

He held up a hand, quieting Alex.

"It all started once you left."

"Of course it did…" Alex muttered.

"Are you going to interrupt me the entire time?" Mozzie snapped.

"Sorry."

"Good."

"…So are you going to continue or—"

"Funny. It's almost like we just agreed on you not interrupting me anymore."

"We never agreed to that! I _said_ that I was sorry."

"Not genuinely."

Alex sighed impatiently. "Mozzie, you say that like you do."

"I don't see your point."

"Stop stalling."

"I wasn't stalling. I felt the need to point out the improbability…" Mozzie faltered under Alex's glare. He held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Fine, fine, no more stalling."

"You said that it happened after I left Austria," Alex prompted, leaning back in her chair and propping her feet on the table. Moz glanced at her boots and then at the clean table and forcibly turned his attention back to her.

"So you know how Badeni and Neal work together right?"

"You mean with great difficulty?"

"Well, Neal decided that he was going to leave Badeni and go back to France—"

"Where Kate was."

Mozzie nodded. "Badeni was understandably ticked off by that—his "protégé" leaving? Badeni couldn't handle that—so he convinced Neal that they should go off with a bang. So they managed to plan one final heist. The Greenburg's vase set."—Alex whistled—"As usual Badeni's and Neal's different moral code got in the way. Badeni proposed a brilliant way to get into the museum through the front door. There was a high chance that the guards would have to be killed, but Badeni didn't mind, of course. He deemed it a necessary risk. Neal didn't. So Neal proposed his usual nonviolent approach and Badeni countered with Neal being too 'squeamish to get the job done.' It soon turned into a full blown argument."

"So Neal betrayed Badeni out of spite?"

"He's done things for less, but no. At the last minute, the other Greenburg vase was moved to an alternate location so Neal went after that one with Tommy, Steve, and Hank."

"How'd that go?"

"Fine," Mozzie said with a dismissive hand wave, "but before Neal left, Badeni talked to him privately about staying…_permanently_. Predictably, Neal said no."

"Just no?"

"No, saying 'just no' wouldn't really make sense in the situation—"

"Mozzie," Alex said exasperatedly, "you know what I mean."

"Of course he just said no! Neal isn't an idiot. He may not like Badeni's work ethics, but he isn't stupid enough to get on his bad side."

Alex held up hands in the worldwide gesture of 'whoa.' "I just figured that Badeni would offer Neal the chance to be partners or something. He was quite fond of him."

"Oh he did…Neal was just going to be…less in charge than Badeni was."

Alex rolled her eyes. "Badeni was always full of it."

"You're telling me. He has an ego the size of Manhattan, but the brains and balls to back it up."

Alex snorted.

"So, Neal politely declined—" Mozzie began again.

"And Badeni suddenly had the urge to kill Neal the next time he saw him? Unlikely."

"You know how Badeni is. He can read emotion from a rock."

"True," Alex said somewhat reluctantly. "Torturing people physically just isn't enough for him. He has to do it mentally too." She finished with a snarl that made Mozzie raise an eyebrow at her before continuing.

"So, also predictably, Badeni got a tad offended when he got the gist of Neal's true feelings when it came to working with him."

"Did Neal know?"

"That the sadistic, temperamental criminal he was working with suddenly had feelings towards him that showed in a not very positive light? …Yeah."

"So what did Neal do?" Alex asked with a slight frown. His impulse control was almost nonexistent. There was a high possibility that Neal did something on a whim that directly caused today's problem.

"Probably what you would do—act natural."

Alex grunted in reply.

"Neal soon made plans to get the Greensburg vase and leave Badeni as soon as he possibly could."

"Well, that plan obviously worked."

Mozzie stared at her.

"That was sarcasm."

He blinked. "Sarcasm is a refuge for a shallow mind."

"If that's what makes you feel better for not getting the use of it, then sure," Alex smiled sweetly at him.

Mozzie rolled his eyes. "What happened to 'no interruptions'?"

"That wasn't an interruption! It was more like side commentary…"

Mozzie sighed and rubbed his temples."Neal's plan worked up to the point where he walked in on one of Badeni's 'lessons.' "

Alex felt her face grow pale. "Shit."

"You're telling me," Mozzie agreed softly before dropping his voice to a whisper. "It was a girl."

Alex looked sharply up at Mozzie. "I thought that Badeni had some code or something? I thought that girls and kids were off limits."

"He was drunk, angry and he took it out on the girl that Neal conned to get a look at the layout of the museum," Mozzie hesitated before adding, "The girl that Neal was slightly fond of."

Alex closed her eyes. "How old was she?"

"About 16, turning 17 in a few months," Moz answered. "He helped her get through relationship trouble. An amusing story actually, not that Neal will tell it now." His gaze shifted to the fruit bowl between them. "She ended up dying from internal bleeding. There was nothing Neal could do."

A silence fell over the room. Mozzie turned his gaze back to a shell-shocked Alex. Yeah, that's pretty much what he thought too the first time he found out. Of course, Neal had went into gruesome detail the first time he drunkenly told Mozzie, with all the purpled skin and fresh blood dripping to the floor and busted in ribs…Moz suppressed a shudder. He couldn't tell Alex now. It was all just too much. Alex slammed her hand on the table, causing Mozzie to jump. "What the hell is Badeni's problem? Why is he always so…so…!"

"Mental? Violent? Like a child when he doesn't get his way?"

"A deranged child on steroids," Alex muttered under her breath.

"Neal did his first violent act while he was at Austria," Mozzie said, almost conversationally. "He hit Badeni with a crowbar."

"I would've murdered the bastard."

"Neal didn't have time. Stacy was dying. The henchmen were coming. So, Neal called an ambulance and tried to stop her bleeding, but her ribs were apparently poking into an artery. Neal didn't have any hope in saving her."

"How bad was she?"

Mozzie glared at Alex. _Why _did she have to ask the question that he couldn't—wouldn't—answer? "Badeni was with her for two hours. How do you think she was?" Luckily, Alex didn't answer.

Mozzie picked some imaginary lint off his sleeve. "She died in Neal's arms."

"Shit," Alex breathed, almost automatically.

"Neal went on automatic after that—cut himself off from the world. He dragged Badeni's body in a closet and threw a hoodie over his bloody shirt. He sauntered out of the room all smiles, asking the henchmen if they were practicing for a marathon or if they could help him reload Greenburg's vases into the van, there had been a change in plan. They, of course, helped him. Neal told them that Badeni should be back in an hour or so and left without a backwards glance. Badeni busted the closet door down about an hour later and scared the henchmen witless, asking where Neal was and the rest—as they say—is history."

"Shit," Alex said again, this time with more feeling. Mozzie started nodding in agreement as Alex took out her phone and started dialing.

"What are you doing?" Mozzie asked, as he attempted to grab her phone. She moved.

"Calling Tommy," Alex answered, unperturbed.

Mozzie let his protests die in his throat as he saw pure determination in her eye. "Put it on speaker."

Alex obliged.

They listened in tense silence as the phone rang…and rang…and _rang._ Finally it went to voice mail. Alex slapped the phone shut angrily.

Mozzie and Alex shared a look. "Hank?" Mozzie suggested.

Alex shrugged as she dialed his number.

They waited three long seconds later until a slightly irritated voice said, _"What?"_

"Hey! Great to see you too!" Alex greeted in an overly enthusiastic voice.

"_It's great to hear from you, Alex, but I'm in the middle of something so maybe you could call back—"_

"You do realize that I know what you're doing."

Hank gave an irritated sigh. _"Do you need something?"_

"No," Alex began sarcastically. "I just thought that I'd call you, knowing full well that you're busy, just to see how you're doing."

"_Alex…"_

"You trust me, right?"

_"Of course—"_

"More than Badeni, I mean," Alex clarified.

_"…How can you even ask that?"_

"Quite easily, actually."

_"You know I do."_

"Good…"Alex said."So, um, have you seen Neal recently?" She decided to ignore Mozzie mouthing 'subtle.' _Now_ who was being sarcastic?

_"…I have…"_

"Is he okay?" Alex asked, hating the concern that managed to leak in her voice.

_"He's…been better."_

"How bad is it?"

_"Neal has cracked ribs and too many bruises. Inside and out. Alexandra…"_

Alex scrunched her nose at the use of her full name.

_"…Badeni shot Tommy."_

She gasped as she shot a look at Mozzie. He looked equally shocked.

"Is it fatal?" Alex asked a little hysterically. Not Tommy. _Please_ not Tommy. Tommy might act tough or be cynical when he was angry, which happened a lot around Badeni now that she thought about it, but he was about as harmless as a puppy—a Rottweiler puppy, but a puppy all the same.

_"I don't know." _The frustration in his voice was evident. _"I had to leave before I could check."_

Alex swore.

_"He got shot in an artery…"_

Alex bit her lip trying not to freak out and just concentrating on breathing in and out. Why did Badeni have to shoot him through an artery? Why couldn't that little hunk of metal have passed harmlessly through muscle? Or, better yet, miss him completely?

_"Are you alright?"_

"Peachy," Alex managed to get out, pleased that her panicky worry was safely hidden.

_"Mhmm…"_ Damn. Apparently she didn't hide it well enough.

"So Neal is okay?" Alex clarified.

_"Well, Badeni is making him forge a statue and is trying to turn the Feds against him and Neal probably thinks that he's responsible for Tommy's—"_

"Yeah," Alex agreed hurriedly, but she hoped it just passed off as knowing.

"He turned the Feds against him?" Mozzie muttered. "I should've known that the Suit couldn't be trusted."

_"Hello, Moz or is it Dante? I can never remember."_

"Haversham, actually," Mozzie corrected stiffly.

Alex refrained from rolling her eyes.

_"But, to answer your question, Badeni has turned some of the agents against him."_

"What about the Suit?" Mozzie questioned suspiciously.

_"He's…undecided."_

"Figures."

"So what's your time frame?" Alex asked, deciding to ignore the Bureau's hypocrisy and Mozzie's accurate paranoia for the moment.

_"We'll be leaving New York at 6:30 and catching a plane to Europe. Of course, if Steve continues to have computer troubles, than it might take longer."_

"Steve is having computer troubles?" Mozzie asked, genuinely surprised. Yeah, Alex could relate. Steve was probably one of the best hackers Alex ever had the pleasure working with and if he was having problems…

_"Not really sure what's wrong, but Badeni breathing down his neck isn't helping the slightest."_

"Okay, well thanks," Alex said, unsubtly trying to end the conversation. She refused to even glance Mozzie's direction in case he was doing another of those very _non_-sarcastic 'subtle' things again.

_"Hold on, what are you going to do?"_

"We're…going to bust Neal out."

_"How?"_

Alex scowled at his slightly patronizing tone, but glanced over at Mozzie, who shrugged. They hadn't really gotten that far.

"We're actually going to observe the Headquarters and see the best point of entrance." She smirked to herself. That ought to satisfy him.

"_Really?"_

"Yes, _really_," Alex snapped. "And if we can't think of one we can always send me up there to talk to Badeni—since I'm his fence and have a probable reason to be up there. Does that satisfy you?"

"_You sound just like your mother when you get angry."_

Alex rolled her eyes. "Bye, Dad."

"_Have fun. Oh, and Alexandra? Don't do anything stupid."_

Alex's retort got cut short by the dial tone. She glared at her phone before looking back at Mozzie. "So, any inspiration?"

"We need to get down there, now. Find Neal before things get even more out of control."  
"Thank you, Captain Obvious. I meant like a way to actually do that."

"They probably went in through the vents, so that's an out."

Alex groaned. "We probably should've asked Dad how they got in."

" 'Having regrets just takes your time away'—Leif Garrett."

Alex just looked at him." 'I don't care'—Alex Hunter."

Mozzie scowled at her before his face lightened up. "What if," Mozzie said as inspiration struck, "we pull a Mary Lue?"

"That…might actually work," Alex grinned at Mozzie before frowning, "but we still need to be inside."

"I have a theory."

"I love theories."

"Let's go," Mozzie said as he threw car keys at Alex.

She caught them reflexively. "Mozzie? Where did you get these?"

"I didn't steal them," Moz said irritably.

"They just fell into your pockets then?"

"It's called _borrowing_. You should try it some time."

"You mean how we _borrowed_ Steve Witler's _Nigeria? _

Mozzie glowered at her. "_No_, as in asking the owner of the said object and the owner saying 'yes.' "

"Sure."

"The clock is ticking."

"Fine, let's go in your 'borrowed' car."

"It's June's!"

"I'm sure."

"Alex—"

"The clock is ticking, Mozzie." Alex tapped her imaginary watch for effect.

Mozzie stomped out of the room, muttering something about 'girls' and 'bipolar.' Alex followed him with a small smile on her face. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

~O~

Director Reese Hughes paced in the empty interrogation room, long past trying to glare a hole through the mirror. He had been there for the past hour and a half and absolutely _nothing_ happened. The Austrian's henchmen dropped Hughes off and left with uncreative, vague threats and heavy implication that he was going to have a "personal chat" with the head honcho himself at some point in the near future. At first Hughes tried to think constructively, he hadn't been director for ten years for nothing, but the Bureau made these interrogation rooms so that people could not easily escape them. Sadly, that included seasoned FBI agents.

Hughes ran a hand through what was left of his hair and wondered how his agents were holding up. Peter had still seemed somewhat dazed over Caffrey's betrayal when Hughes left, which was understandable, but, hopefully, Peter had pulled his act together. He was the closest thing the agents had to an authority figure and the majority of the agents would listen to him simply because of his reputation. There wasn't any time for him to mellow in his thoughts when he should be planning an escape, a distraction, _something _to get them out of this situation_._

Before this whole mess started, Peter trusted Neal to an extent and Hughes was willing to put faith in Peter's trust in the conman. His less experienced agents didn't seem to hold the same sentiment, but Hughes didn't think for one second that a brotherly hug convicted Caffrey of being a backstabbing conman. Besides, Caffrey was a valuable asset to the FBI and worked surprisingly well with Peter. If anyone could figure out a way to trick the Austrian and his henchmen it would have to be Burke and Caffrey.

Peter's worrisome, unhealthy trust in the conman, that had worried the higher ups from the start, would actually come in useful. Peter was stubborn. If he put his mind to anything, Hughes was positive that he would eventually accomplish—a loud gunshot shattered his thoughts and everything went still for a nanosecond. Hughes didn't flinch, didn't swear, didn't attempt any frantic, but fruitless, escape. His gaze simply flickered over to the door for a brief moment before casually strolling back to his chair and calmly sitting down, giving the appearance of control. He hoped it was successful because inside he was screaming. The killings had begun and he could do nothing. All he could do was hope and pray. Hughes had never felt more useless.

~O~

Steve wiped his sweaty brow as his eyes lingered on the door that Hank disappeared through just a moment ago. He wasn't entirely sure what that was about. He just knew that Neal apparently sent Travis on a wild goose chase looking for a Jimmy Burger. Why Neal picked the name Jimmy Burger was beyond him. Didn't even sound like a real name, but it was unlike Neal to be thinking at least five steps ahead so Steve was willing to bet that 'Jimmy Burger' meant something to someone…just not him.

Steve spared one final glance at the nervous FBI agents. Not so much nervous as…wondering how the events would pane out. Of course, he would too if he was in their shoes—a cryptic meeting ending with one of their hostage holders running out of the room, who _wouldn't_ be curious about that?

He turned his attention back to the laptop. He really needed to actually work on his job or Badeni might start to get suspicious. Steve could only use the excuse that "there are problems getting past the laptop's security" so much. The laptop's security _was_ a bit advanced for that particular model, but he figured out how to get past it in about the first five minutes of the job. Honestly, if the Feds were stupid enough to put a laptop full of the _original_ criminal record of their employer in the same place as the hard copy, they should've at least given it a decent security system with a fighting chance against one of the world's best hackers. Steve smirked at his own modesty. He could practically hear the sarcastic, teasing remarks Tommy or Neal would give him if he was stupid enough to say that out loud within their hearing. Steve felt himself deflate a little at the thought of what Neal was going through. He could only hope that his stalling was somehow helping.

He shook his head as he began typing on the keyboard, ignoring the now familiar prickle of someone watching him. He was just being paranoid. Of _course_, someone would be watching him. He was in a room filled with hostile FBI agents. Steve just wished that he could stop picturing evil, revenge-seeking FBI agents in dark corners, waiting to jump out at him. Or those creepy Chinese dolls with porcelain smiles, waiting for the opportunity to stab him in the back as soon as his gaze wondered away. Steve shuddered. Why would anyone want those things anyway? They're just…creepy. Tommy can say all he wants. Steve knows their true intentions.

His fingers hovered over the laptop, briefly wondering if he could possibly get away with playing four games simultaneously without getting caught when a shot rang through the building. He bolted up, somehow managing to knock his coffee out of the cup and onto his shirt in the process. Thoughts rapidly fired all at once. He found himself thankful that his shirt was black and that the coffee stain wouldn't show. Wondering if he would ever get use to guns firing and bombs exploding that seemed to come from working with Badeni—he was thinking no. Desperately hoping that Badeni or a henchman was just proving a point. Steve deliberately avoided all thoughts of a lifeless corpse staring blankly up at him.

Steve glanced worriedly at the double doors that Hank left through. _Relax, Matthews,_ Steve chanted to himself. _Think about this logically. Badeni wouldn't shoot Hank or Tommy. They're too valuable for this operation. But Neal…_ his fingers froze over the keyboard before he forced himself to breathe again. Neal was fine. He was more valuable to the operation than both Hank and Tommy combined. Badeni probably wanted to psychologically torture the hostages with the gunshot. Make them worry that they'll be next. That if Badeni shot one of his own henchmen, what would stop him from shooting a hostage. The works. Problem was that it was working on him too.

~O~

Lauren wished she could get up and pace, but their 'caretakers' were against the FBI agents doing anything other than sitting quietly. The stress of this whole…_mess _was really getting to her. Having guns pointed at her and being thrown on the floor like a piece of trash was apparently a pet peeve of hers. Who knew? Of course, Neal's betrayal was a bit more shocking than Lauren would've liked. Despite all her barriers, Neal still managed to sneak by and fill in the annoying-brother-that-you-can't-help-but-care-for role in her life. Lauren sighed, but then he ended up being criminal after all. Well, _that_ experiment certainly failed.

She studied Peter with her peripheral vision. He still had that frown. Lauren was beginning to wonder if it was permanent. She shifted her gaze to the rest of the agents. Worn out faces were looking back at her. A few of the agents studied the henchmen vigilantly on the off chance that they could find an opening to use to their advantage, but Lauren gave up on that a while ago. The henchmen seemed thick, but apparently they had enough experience with hostages to know the best way to guard them. Meaning: no openings. Besides, she already had an accurate description of them in the back of her mind. The masks were concealing yes, but they couldn't exactly able to hide their size, weight, or the tracker Lauren slipped on one of them while she was being manhandled. Thank God that the Tech Department picked this morning to show her the different types of trackers they made for a certain conman while he worked undercover.

"What do you think that was about?" a soft voice murmured next to Lauren's ear.

She glanced back at Jones and gave an unhelpful shrug. How was she suppose to know was caused their hostage takers to disappear after one came running in—not much for subtleties that one—complaining about being duped by Jimmy Burger or something along the lines of that.

"I'm hoping for a problem," Jones continued. "A problem that'll cause all operations to come to a halt…or, better yet, a problem where someone saw them and reported them to the authorities."

"Jones, don't be so naïve," Lauren snapped, even though she was restraining an affectionate smile from flickering across her face.

Jones looked at her knowingly, adding to her theory that he could see right through her. Of course, he _had_ been working at the White Collar Unit for quite some time now and Lauren doubted that she was the hardest person he ever had to read. "It's called optimism."

Lauren grunted.

Jones smirked.

A gunshot echoed through the office.

Lauren blinked.

The hacker spilt coffee on himself.

Jones jerked his head up.

Anxious whispers emerged from the agents.

"What happened?"

"Holy shit."

"Christ, were next!"

"Don't be such an—"

"Always knew it was going to end this way."

"No chance—"

"—idiot."

"Do you think there's a chance that one of the henchmen shot themselves in the foot?" Agent Clark asked a little whimsically.

Agent Clark shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the agents' disbelieving stares. "What?"

Lauren snorted at Clark as a nervous laughter swept through the agents.

She glanced over at Peter and let her eyes linger over his suddenly stiff posture. She was still studying him when his head turned and their eyes connected. Lauren quickly looked away, confused by the barely concealed panic and fear dancing around in his eyes…and guilt? Determination? She didn't ask. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know, but suddenly she felt an unexpected wave of hope rise in her.

**Well, that almost ended on a happy note. Who woulda thunk it?**

**Hope you liked it.**

**REVIEW!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Um…hi! *cough* Me again! See? I haven't forgotten about you guys. I'm just a bad updater…yeah. Sorry about that…I'm trying to get better. So that's something I guess... ANYWAYS. Another thanks goes out to RandomChick51! You really make my story feel loved =D Also, if it weren't for her, this would probably be coming out like next month so seriously, thank her. Oh, and FYI: I'm NOT ever going to abandon this story! Just thought I'd let you know. So…longly overdue…chapter 11!**

Frankie rolled his fingers on the hot dog vendor cart impatiently. How long did it take to make a hot dog? If he had to guess, he'd say…about 30 seconds—and he was being generous. He silently went over the process of making a hot dog in his head. Take already cooked hot dog on bun, put toppings on said hot dog, and give hot dog to customer. Wow, not even four steps and here the hot dog vendor has had his about two minutes. Unbelievable.

Frankie glanced at his wristwatch worriedly. Time, as the cliché saying goes, was money. The vendor couldn't afford to treat each and every hot dog like he was painting the _Mona Lisa_ just like _he_ couldn't afford to stay away from his cab for very long. Not when lunch break was about to hit all the office buildings in the surrounding area. He had a family to support after all.

"Here you go, sir," the vendor said with a thick Brooklyn accent. "That would be about…$4.50."

"For a hot dog?" Frankie asked, annoyance evident.

"No, for the pretzel cart," the vendor replied sarcastically. Frankie blinked at the vendor unamused. "Yes, for the hot dog."

"I got a hot dog for two bucks from a vendor down the street last week," Frankie protested, "_and, _get this, it took him not even a whole minute to finish it."

The vendor glared. "This is good quality work. It would be a shame to cheapen its value just because some other vendor rushed the process."

Frankie snorted. "How is it 'good quality work'? It's a hot dog."

"With ketchup, mustard, relish, with a side of onions on it."

"Your charging by the topping now? I'm going to go somewhere else."

"You can't leave after I made the hot dog," the vendor objected.

Frankie gave an irritated sigh. The vendor had a point, but Frankie wasn't done yet. "Fine, but people are going to know what a _rip_ _off_ this is," Frankie said, saying the last part louder than was really necessary.

The vendor rolled his eyes at Frankie's dramatics, but Frankie saw the vendor glance at some of the staring potential customers. "Alright, since I like you, I'll cut you a deal. For you, the hot dog is now…$3.50."

"Again, two bucks just down the street."

"You know how the economy is, everything is more expensive. Take hot dogs for example. Their price jumped up just this Tuesday."

Frank glanced over at the slowly steadying stream of leaving office workers. Lunch time had hit. "Good Point. Wall Street's always has a way of biting you where it hurts." He put four bucks down on the vendor cart and quickly grabbed his change before he jogged over to his cab, stuffing the hot dog in his mouth. Frankie loved lunch rush. Everybody running around, trying to eat and get back to the office as soon as possible. Really one of the best—_Oh crap! _Frankie hunched down in his driver seat, hoping that they didn't see him.

"How was _I _suppose to know that this is the _only _building in New York without a sewer line connecting with any pot holes in an 5 mile diameter!" the bald man yelled at the brunette. The couple was only about fifteen feet away from Frankie's parked cab. _Don't turn around, please don't turn around, _Frankie urged. He wasn't sure if he could handle another trip with them in the backseat. He met a variety of people in his cab, but he tended to steer clear from the potential criminals who break into the 'FBI Headquarters guns blazing.' It helped his moral standings and police record.

"I don't know!" the brunette snapped. "I thought it was your _job _to know those random minor details!" Frankie peeked at them through his window. His eyes widened at the building title behind them: Federal Bureau of Investigation. His heart thudded. They were actually going to do it. They were going to attack the FBI!

"It's not my 'job,' as you so poorly put it. It's a hobby." the bald man retorted. Frankie fumbled for his phone. He should call the police or, better yet, the FBI.

The brunette shook her head impatiently. "Do you have any other bright ideas?"she asked, derision thick in her voice. "Like walking through the front door?"

"If that's the only point of entrance you can think of, I understand why you're not a mastermind."

"Again. That was sarcasm. If you can't understand its usage—"

"Again. Shallow mind."

Frankie finally found his phone—it was in the cup holder. A place Frankie distinctly remembered not putting it—and flipped it open. His fingers paused. What was the FBI's number anyway? Didn't 911 just patch you through to the police?

Frankie glanced back over at the couple. The brunette's face broke out into a grin.

The bald man paused for a moment. "What?" Yeah, that's what Frankie was wondering.

"I have a theory."

"You do," the bald man said doubtfully.

"Oh, your faith in me is so reassuring," the brunette said with false cheerfulness before dropping back to her somewhat smug tone. "You've cleaned windows before, haven't you?"

"…Why?"

"Because I think this building might need you expertise."

The bald man didn't seem to share Frankie's confusion. "Especially the 21st floor."

"Yeah, notorious for their gloomy windows aren't they?" the brunette grinned as they disappeared around the side of the building.

_"Hello, this is 911. What is your emergency?"_

The cab door slammed shut. "Bobe's Pizzeria," a harassed looking man said from the backseat.

_"…Hello? Is anyone there?"_

"Sorry, wrong number," Frankie breathed. He glanced in the review mirror as he snapped his phone shut. Intern. Bullied by his coworkers, but sucks up too much to actually put up much of a fight about it. Frankie knew the type and he knew them well. "Bobe's you said? Great choice. Had their pizza once and I was hooked like that."—Frankie snapped his finger for emphasis as he pulled the cab into traffic—"A friend suggested it to me actually. Of course, I wasn't quite prepared to stop going to Ralph's, he's my brother you know? Awkward business. He didn't understand, of course, and I had to—" and Frankie let his automatic cabbie chatter continue. He made the right decision. What was he going to tell 911 anyway? 'Earlier today two suspicious looking characters came into my cab and I think they're going to break into the FBI headquarters that's currently filled with hundreds of federal agents who all carry'? Yeah, that'd go over well. Besides, they weren't going to actually _break into _the _FBI. _It's, well, the FBI! Those agents are trained to handle life and death situations every day. Frankie was positive that they could handle a few criminals attempting to sneak in.

~O~

Steve absently modified the hastily thrown together, top secret laptop's security. Counterproductive? Probably. But modifying the security did two things. One, it made it look like Steve was actually doing his job, a huge plus. Two, it gave Steve the outmost pleasure to know that at some point an agent will try to access the said laptop and they'll be forced to hack into their own laptop to do so. A smirk played at his lips. Steve wasn't the best code-cracking hacker in Eastern Europe for nothing.

He took a moment to glance at the door, hiding his temporary anxiety between sips of coffee. Steve was worried about the gunshot. Sadly, he was used to the unexpected bang of a gun, but with Neal on the loose…Steve shivered while he forcibly hurdled his thoughts away from dead bodies.Hank would know what happened and, more importantly, Hank would _tell _him what happened. Steve always hated Badeni's annoying tendency to keep him in the dark about unexpected changes in the "master" plan.

A hand grabbed Steve's shoulder. Steve jerked, knocking his newly filled cup of coffee on the floor. _Crap, show your nerves much? _Steve stared fixedly on the screen in front of him, determined not to let his eyes even peek at the growing coffee stain on the tile, and attempted to glance up nonchalantly. "Yeah?"

A familiar face smirked down at him. "Scared you, did I, Matthews? "

"No," Steve answered shortly, his traitorous eyes flickering towards the fallen coffee cup. "That explains why you're so tense," Charlie replied with a nod, his customary annoying smirk accompanying the usual smartass remark, "and why you seem to think that coffee helps improve the look of tile. Never heard of that home remedy before."

"What do you want?" Steve asked tersely, not enjoying Charlie's mocking for some obscure reason.

Charlie tutted. "Manners, manners," he said with a sad shake of his head, "Hank wants you to go outside and talk with him."

"Was that so hard?" Steve asked as he stood up from his rolly chair.

Charlie snorted, but apparently didn't deem the remark dignified enough for a response. Steve then decided that Charlie's lack of response affected his life not at all, so he started the very short journey to the double doors. Steve ignored the prickle on his back informing him that people were staring at him as he opened the double doors. If he were being held hostage, he'd be keeping a constant watch on his captors too.

Steve pushed the door open and stopped. He glanced around in confusion. Hank was nowhere in sight. Something grabbed him from behind. Steve yelled, but an anticipating hand covered his mouth and he was twirled around to find Hank staring at him grimly.

"What took you so long?" Hank asked curtly.

"Remember the old days when people wouldn't grab you from behind? I miss them," Steve said with slight longing. Hank leveled a glare at him. Steve flinched. Apparently Hank was in one of _those _moods. Steve knew that it was best to tease Hank when you were either one, somehow make it seem like you're talking about somebody else or, two, accompanied by others. Since neither applied and Hank looked ready to sock him on the head, Steve hurried to actually answer his question. "Charlie told me you wanted to see me just a moment ago."

"Forgot to counter in the time Charlie takes to taunt you," Hank said distractedly. Steve took the time to realize that he and Hank were in a dark corner. Perfect for hiding from prying eyes and watching for oncoming visitors. "Sorry I had to send him. He was the only one I could find. You seem to trip over gunmen until you actually need one, heh?"

Steve watched his older friend cautiously. He'd never seen Hank so frantic before. "Hank? What happened?"

Hank's face tightened. "Badeni…" he began, "okay, kid, before I say anything else I need you not to react."

"That sounds ominous," Steve said, ignoring his tightening stomach.

"Steve," Hank pleaded, "promise me."

Steve scrutinized Hank's face. He only heard Hank beg for anything, well, never actually. "You know I can't do that."

"Then promise you won't do anything rash."

"Okay," Steve shrugged, hoping he was successful in hiding his growing unease.

"Badeni," Hank began again, "I don't really know a way to put this, but Badeni…shot Tommy."

"_WHAT?" _Steve shrieked. Hank put a hand over Steve's mouth to stop his oncoming rant. Steve's eyes persisted on impersonating a deer's as the news continued to sink in. Badeni shot crew members before, but…Tommy?

"I told you not to react," Hank hissed.

"Mew yan't ell sunon sunan nyike nat an expec dem not oo eeact!" Steve yelled behind Hank's hand.

"Repeat that quieter?" Hank asked with a slight frown.

Steve nodded and Hank cautiously removed his hand. Steve took a breath before repeating slowly, "You can't tell someone something like that and expect them not to react."

"Ah, that makes more sense."

Now free of Hank's hand, Steve could no longer hold back his frantic onslaught of questions. "Where'd he shoot Tommy? _Why'd _he shoot Tommy? Tommy's not dead is he? Oh, he is, isn't he? I can't believe I thought that Badeni was shooting randomly to psych out the agents. Stupid! Stupid!"

Hank grabbed Steve's hand to stop it from continuing to beat the hacker's head. "In the shoulder. To scare Neal. I hope not."

Steve glanced at Hank briefly, attempting to keep the shine in his eyes from becoming anything more. "Where's Tommy now?" he whispered.

"Badeni dismissedme before I could discover anything useful," Hank said coolly. He cleared his throat before continuing. "He wants me to do damage control with the agents."

"The usual?" Steve asked, striving to sound relatively normal, but the hollow spot in his chest persisted on being felt. Tommy…dead. What were their last moments together? Probably something mundane and both figuring that they'll see each other in the future anyway so why bother to talk about anything sentimental? A comforting hand brought Steve out of his morbid thoughts.

Steve gave a weak smile. "Thanks."

Hank nodded.

"Ready to do this thing?" Steve asked once it became clear that Hank wasn't going to leave the little privacy the dark corner offered until Steve was all right.

"After you," Hank ushered. Steve hurried through the door and over tile until he reached the vague familiarity of his newly acquired rolly chair which he promptly plopped into, not caring what the agents saw and assumed. "All right, agents!" Hank yelled, instantly grabbing all the attention. "We've had a little…mishap with your director and are hoping that our next volunteer will be more forthcoming. Any volunteers?"—there was a shocked silence as Hank's rapid implication finally hit home—"Nobody? Really? Alright, you"—Hank pointed at Agent Burke—"follow me."

"Why should I?" Burke asked gruffly. Steve wasn't sure if he asked out of bravery, instinct, or just plain curiosity.

"Because if you don't," Hank said in a voice that thoroughly creeped Steve out, "then we might be forced to take one of your other colleagues and they might not be able to provide the information we _know _is tumbling around that thick skull of yours. So we'd be forced to have another federal agent leave in a body bag."

Peter seemed to be trying to evaluate the sincerity of Hank's threat. "Fine."

"Grab him," Hank briskly ordered two of the gunmen as he turned toward the double doors.

Steve watched tiredly as the two gunmen dragged Neal's handler out the door with unnecessary force. He almost missed the brief considerate look on Hank's face. Almost. But Steve recognized that considerate look for what it truly was. Something Hank would refer to as 'an ill advised, not at all thought out plan that would most likely get everybody killed' if Hank saw that expression on anybody else.

It appeared Hank was being impulsive.

_Huh. _

_Guess I'll run back up then. _For being one of the best criminal masterminds, Badeni really didn't think it through when he shot Tommy. He didn't think about what that would do to some of the crew's loyalty. Tommy was his friend and Badeni shot him. Bad idea.

_Now, how does one run back-up on a plan one doesn't even know the basics of? And how could one run back-up for said plan while one has to stay in the middle of the open bullpen supposedly hacking the "super secret" laptop's security._

Steve eyed the laptop. _I wonder if I could access the FBI's mainframe on this?_

~O~

The Federal Agent glanced thoughtfully at the hacker. He seemed distracted, well, more distraught really with an underlying hint of…determination? The agent hoped not. The Federal Agent couldn't allow the hacker to gain access to the laptop's information. If he did, then the hacker would have the ability to alter every most wanted criminal's record with a click of the mouse. Yes, it was stupid to have the hard copy in the same place as the primary records, but how was OPR suppose to know that there would be an attack in the FBI Headquarters during the 15 hour time span both copies were in less than a one mile vicinity of each other? Hopefully, the hacker would keep running into roadblocks and barriers and never get past the security. That would make the agent's job so much easier. The Federal Agent turned to watch the two gunmen haul Peter Burke out the door like a piece of luggage. One head agent down and another being dragged off behind enemy lines. Lovely.

~O~

Don stalked through the maze the Feds optimistically referred to as a hallway, always glancing briefly at all the passing henchmen's faces, and constantly coming back to the bitter taste of disappointment whenever the face didn't match up with his mental picture. How hard could finding one person in an enclosed space be?

Badeni sent him off on this human scavenger hunt right after he dragged Tommy's body to one of the few offices in this building without glass walls. One would think that the Feds would value privacy more. As Don took another random right turn, he had the sick sensation that Badeni was punishing him. Apparently, it was his fault that Badeni's left eye was currently surrounded by a black bruise. His! _How was it _his _fault that Neal escaped and got a lucky punch in the fight with Badeni?_ If anything, Badeni should've seen that coming after he shot Tommy. What did he think the Caffrey would do? Play hopscotch with a pogo-stick? Not that Don was going to tell Badeni that anytime soon. Being on the bad side of Badeni was a place Don never wanted to be. Of course,he was prepared to take the fall for allowing Neal to escape—he honestly never thought anyone could be as stupid as to let a prisoner walk right out the door—but still, he should've checked on the pet convict more than he did in that fifteen minute span Don left Caffrey alone.

The forger sighed. The guys teased him on more than one occasion of following Badeni blindly and Don was starting to think that they might have a point. Then again, Badeni took him in and trained him in the ways of the hidden world, something the guys, or Jack, never bothered to do. So Don always felt more than a little naively loyal to Badeni despite the Austrians sometimes larger than life expectations and vicious temper. Don knew that Badeni might find him useless in some situations, but Badeni always took time afterwards to give him an exasperated, but instructional, lecture. 

"Deep in thought?" Charlie asked, leaning by the water cooler.

Don eyes lit up at the small victory of finally coming to the end of his hunt. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"That's not creepy."

"Shut up," Don said easily. "Badeni wants you."

"Why?" Charlie asked dryly. Getting unexpectedly called to the boss was never a good sign.

"That's what you get for being our only doctor."

Charlie straightened minutely. "He's injured? I heard the gunshot, of course, I just never thought—"

"Fatally," Don said with a sad nod of his head, "black eye."

Charlie leveled his brown gaze on Don. "Are you screwing with me?"

"No," Don sighed, "Badeni wants you to fix it. Can't talk to the hostages otherwise."

"Then he should call a make-up artist," Charlie snarled.

"But you can—"

"It's a black eye, Don," Charlie interrupted wearily. "You can't just make it disappear with a pill."

Don sighed. "Just follow me." The forger turned around and began the surprisingly short walk to Badeni's room. Don let out a breath when he heard a grumbling Charlie's footsteps behind him.

"Who did Badeni shoot anyway?" Charlie questioned after a moment.

Don glanced at Charlie's stoic face briefly. "Tommy." Don gestured to a door. "Badeni is in there." He heard Charlie huff.

"Glad you're not the type of person to drop a bomb on somebody without warning," Charlie muttered sarcastically as he entered the room, leaving Don in the hallway.Don lingered by the door as he heard Badeni greet Charlie.

"So, vhere's your kit?"

"You don't really need a medical license to fix a black eye," Charlie answered with the barest hint of annoyance, but Don was positive that Badeni still heard it. He didn't become one or the best criminals in the Eastern Hemisphere by being obtuse to the people around him. "So I brought the next best thing," Charlie continued. There was a pause. Don leaned forward unconsciously, pointlessly trying to hear what was going on during the silence.

"Make up?" Badeni asked doubtfully. Don had to stop himself from making a disbelieving noise. Charlie actually carried around make-up?

"Either this or you put on a mask."

"I don't think so. Hostages don't expect to see their captors face. Seeing my face makes them think that—"

"They're all going to die, yeah," Charlie finished.

Silence. Don leaned back. The forger decided to take his creative license and assume that Badeni was staring his iconic cold glare at Charlie which in turn was making Charlie start to squirm like the anxious little schoolboy everyone secretly hid inside.

"I'm going to choose to take your interruption as you proving that you were paying attention."

Charlie nodded. At least, Don assumed he did. "…So ready to be make-uped?"

"Are you sure this is the only vay to get rid of it?" Badeni asked, a slight hint of reluctance in his tone.

"It's the only effective, fastway to get rid of all hint of one, yes."

"Hmm…lurker at the door?" Badeni called. Don felt himself stiffen at being caught in the act of eavesdropping. It's not like he _planned _to listen in. It just kind of…happened. "Vhat do you think?"

_Please don't be red, please don't be red. Please_ _don't be red. _"Um…" Don coughed as he attempted to lean against the doorframe with nonchalance, but his stiff body refused to relax. "I suppose make-up would be the best approach."

Badeni studied Don for a moment. "How's your charge?"

"Hm?"

"_Caffrey_," Badeni emphasized, "how is he?"

"Uh, fine…probably."

"Probably?"

"Yeah, I, um, haven't actually had time to check how he was doing..." Don trailed off. A silence entered the room.

"And vhy is that?" Badeni asked with a raised eyebrow. "It's your only job. Vatch over Caffrey. I thought even _you_ could manage that."

Don decided to ignore Badeni's emphasis. "I had to get Charlie."

"Obviously, you needed to check in on Caffrey _before _you began your search for Charlie. This is hardly a life-or-death situation. Or vould you rather Caffrey make another escape attempt?"

Don gulped in answer to Badeni's question.

Badeni sighed when it became apparent that Don wasn't going to move…or speak for that matter. "I _vas_ at the belief that your choice of guards didn't reflect your own IQ level, but…" Badeni tsk-ed. "now…" The Austrian shrugged. Don felt his heart jerk. Badeni…thought he was an idiot? Don's eyes slid over to Charlie, who was currently watching the scene unfold with interest.

Don cleared his throat after a moment. "I'll just go check on Neal then," Don said, in what he hoped was a neutral voice. Badeni nodded in clear dismissal. Don swallowed. Apparently he cared for Badeni far more that Badeni cared for him which, though saddening, was something that Don figured out a long time ago.

~O~

Agent Harrison bustled through the bullpen, dodging around desks, people, and the general chaos that made the Organized Crime Unit. This was his first week off of probation and he was eager to get back out on the field. He was sick of the bland office walls and the mind-numbing routine. This was probably the one time he was genuinely grateful for a homicide.

"Harrison!" Ruiz yelled.

Harrison stopped with a glare before turning back to his boss. "Yeah?" he asked shortly, knowing he should probably be more polite, but not particularly caring.

"You going out?"

_No, I'm just heading to the elevator for exercise. _"Yes, my probation ended on Friday," Harrison answered with forced patience.

"Good, drop this off at Kidnapping"—Ruiz dropped a box in Harrison's unsuspecting hands—"and this"—Ruiz held out a thick folder—"to White Collar."

"Is that all?" Harrison asked through clenched teeth.

Ruiz pursed his lips. "That should do it, Harrison."

Harrison nodded as he turned back to the elevator, muttering to himself as he attempted to punch the elevator button.

"You know that people might start to believe you've gone crazy if you keep doing that, right?" a teasing voice said beside him.

Harrison turned. "Oh, hey, Gwinn."

"Whoa. Don't blow me away with your enthusiasm or anything," Gwinn said cheerfully as she followed him into the elevator.

He half-smiled at Gwinn's antics. She was probably the reason he didn't go mad with paperwork through his three month suspension. "Sorry, but apparently I turned into Messenger Boy today."

"Oh, that sounds fun. Where are you delivering to?"

"The box to Kidnapping and the folder to White Collar. Why White Collar even needs something from Organized Crime, I don't know," Harrison said, radiating irritation while the elevator doors dinged close.

"I'm helping out the Kidnapping Unit today. Do you want me to take your stuff?" Gwinn offered. "I'll get the folder to White Collar eventually."

Harrison turned to her with a grin. "You're the best, Gwinn."

"I know," Gwinn said as she punched the '15' button on the elevator wall. She bent over and picked up the box of files, grunting as she stood back up.

"Heavier than it looks, isn't it?"

"I hate boxes like that. Have fun catching bad guys," Gwinn called over her shoulder when the elevator opened to the 15th floor, her black hair swishing back and forth across her back as she walked away.

"You too," Harrison said, pressing the lobby button. He felt as giddy as a five year old on a sugar high who just found out that his dad bought him a brand new bike. _Crime scene here I come._

~O~

Travis and his newly conscious partner, Jamie, had apparently been deemed 'not guard worthy' by Badeni and the other crew members. Was it _their _fault that Neal lowered one of their escape routes to the ground? Travis didn't think so. Jamie only got rendered unconscious while he was off chasing the non-existent Burger. So _really_…well, maybe it was a little bit their fault, but they certainly didn't deserve to be put in the worse possible duty. Paperwork. He shuddered.

"Travis?" Jamie called from the other side of the filing room. "You're muttering to yourself again."

Travis snarled. "I just don't understand why we have to sift through every single file. Why can't we just torch the place?"

Jamie sighed and repeated for about the fiftieth time. "Because if we torch the file room, I think even the Feds could put two and two together and realize we took something. So here we are—sifting." Travis muttered under his breath. Jamie glanced across the room. "What?"

"I hate paperwork," Travis grumbled.

Jamie's eyes flickered toward the rifled through file boxes. "This isn't really paperwork."

"It's a waste of time."

"It needs to be done," Jamie said shrugging.

"It's unneeded."

"I feel like you don't understand the words coming out of my mouth."

"It's just—OW!"

"What?" Jamie asked in alarm, looking up sharply from the file box in front of him.

"Paper cut."

Jamie paused for a moment before laughing at Travis' bleak expression.

"Think this is funny, do you?" Travis snapped, pointing his wounded finger at Jamie accusingly.

Jamie clutched his sides. "Just a—just a bit," he managed between laughter. Travis' glare nearly set Jamie off again, but he held back. Barely. "Oh hey," Jamie said in surprise, staring down in his hands, "I found him."

"Who?"

"The guy whose file we've been searching for for the past half hour."

"Theodor Caldwell?"

"What? No. Steven Richards. Our _client_," Jamie gave Travis an irritated glare. "Are you meaning to tell me that this entire time you've been searching for the wrong person?"

Travis had a deadpanned expression. "I was kidding."

"Sure you were," Jamie said mockingly. "Let's just get rid of his records."

"Okay," Travis said, flicking his lighter open. He made a grab for the file.

"What are you doing?" Jamie asked in alarm, hugging the file to his chest.

"Getting rid of it," Travis said slowly, letting his tone show Jamie what an idiot he was being.

"You can't burn it," Jamie said, mimicking Travis.

"And why not?"

"What part of 'if we burn it, the Feds will know' do you not understand?"

"I thought that just applied to the file room," Travis said in annoyance, "this is just one measly folder."

"One _thick_ measly folder. Seriously, how many crimes did he commit?"

"Not our problem. You're point?"

"The Feds will smell it."

"Well, spray some Febreeze then!" Travis snapped.

"That won't work!" Jamie retorted. "Let's just dispose of it without leaving a smell."

"Oh, and how do you propose we do that?" Travis smirked as he watched Jamie make a quick look around the file room.

"Paper shredder," Jamie finally said with a hint of smugness.

Travis snorted. "Yeah, let's leave the Bureau a nice little puzzle out of pity. That's smart."

"This shredder shreds the paper in those tiny little squares not strips—much harder to put together."

"Really?"

"Yep. Watch," Jamie said. He picked a random piece of paper off the clerk's desk and placed it into the shredder. The shredder roared to life as it grinded the paper through.

They both stared at the result.

"Nice strips."

"Shut up," Jamie snapped.

Travis grinned.

"But seriously, how do we get rid of it?"

Travis shrugged.

"Brilliant!" Jamie said excitedly. "Why didn't I think of that?" He dropped his wondrous expression long enough to shoot Travis a look. "You _could _contribute you know."

"I'm hungry."

"Do you ever _not _think with your stomach?"

Travis huffed indignantly. "Yes, _actually_."

"When?"

"Hmm. I don't know? How about the time where I was searching for Burger and _you _let the window platform escape?"

"Oh, like you didn't secretly hope that 'Burger' had a burger on him."

"How creative, _really, _I'm blown away by it."

"Look at you using words bigger than three letters to respond," Jamie said in a childish voice.

Travis glared. "You know what? I tried to be subtle."

"When?"

"I think we should eat the folder."

Jamie opened his mouth to laugh, or gawk at Travis, probably a mixture of both, but paused when he saw Travis' sober expression. "…Really?"

Nod.

"It's a pretty thick file."

"We spilt it."

"You do know there's a possibility that you could paper cut your mouth, right?"

"What happened to 'we need to get rid of it without a trace'?" Travis asked in a poor imitation of Jamie.

"I am not that high pitched."

"Can you think of another way to get rid of the folder?"

Silence.

"Thought so," Travis said smugly. "Bon appétit."

Jamie glared as he slowly took the first piece of paper of the file.

~O~

Neal stared blandly at the forgery–in-progress in his hands. He just smoothed out the basic molding of the dragon. Now, he only had to wait for the clay to dry before he could work on the next step. Neal estimated that it should take about an hour with a hair dryer for the molding to fully dry, but his "body guards" were reluctant to let Neal do anything without Don's or Badeni's approval, which included the multiple steps it took to make a forgery. He hid a sigh. Great, he had absolutely nothing to distract him from...Neal pursed his lips. He should at least think it. Neal owed Tommy _that _much. He stared across the break room. Tommy deserved that much from him and more.

His blue eyes connected with a stain on the counter opposite from him in the break room. The stain had been there for years. Ever since Neal first arrived at the FBI as a consultant the stain had been there, just another blemish on an already worn counter. That particular stain happened to be directly in front of the microwave, probably caused by one of the hundreds of times a federal agent took a dish out of the microwave and some of their microwavable meal slopped over. The stain also happened to bear a remarkable resemblance to dry blood.

Neal approached the stain warily. He leaned over it. The stain was just that, a stain. Neal didn't really know why he bothered to come over in the first place. It didn't really accomplish anything. A frown crinkled Neal's brow. Was it a trick of the light or did the stain seem to turn brighter, almost wet-looking. Blue eyes widened as the stain started to spread over the counter. A thick, red drop leisurely dripped to the floor. Neal swallowed. Most definitely not a trick of the light. The conman moved his shoe to get a better look at the red drop. Neal crouched down and examined the small puddle. It just laid there, a red splotch on the scuffed floors. He forced a shrug as he made a move to get back into a standing position.

Something wet dripped on his head and started a slow trickle to the back of his neck. Neal stiffened as he raised a quivering hand to the back of his head. He felt around, letting out a relieved sigh. Nothing there, just a figment from his imagin—Neal jerked his hand back as his middle finger came in contact with something. Something sticky. He slowly lowered his hand. It hand looked normal. White, mostly clean, bits of clay under his nails, bright red on the tip of his middle finger. He swallowed. A flash of red went by Neal's peripheral vision. He turned his head slightly. Another red drop stained the floor beside him. Neal slowly straightened fully as he looked up. Neal had to bite his tongue to stop the oncoming scream.

On the ceiling was Tommy. A dead, bleeding, screaming Tommy. A red stain decorated the patch of ceiling behind him. Every one of Tommy's body parts were pressed flat against the surface, everywhere except for his arm—the arm where he was shot. His wounded arm reached toward Neal. A silent plea for help. His mouth was open in a silent scream of agony and Tommy's glazed eyes stared down at Neal, a silent, accusing question reflecting in them. _Why didn't you save me? _Another drop of blood fell from Tommy's shoulder.

"Why didn't you do anything?"

Neal's mouth went dry when he realized that Tommy was the one that spoke. A cold sweat broke out. "I…" Neal couldn't get the words past the big lump in his throat.

"I helped you," Tommy's voice continued in a monotone, "and you betrayed me."

"I would never—"

"But you did," Tommy said, a demonic glare dancing in Tommy's dead eyes. "I was helping you and guess what I got out of it? Nothing."

"No! I—"

A feral grin crept across Tommy's pale face. Tommy continued softly, "I suppose that's not true though…I did get something. Do you know what that is, Neal?"

Neal's vision blurred as he shrugged helplessly.

"Death," Tommy breathed. "Seems to be a common theme for you doesn't it? People dying to help you. If only you were more self-sufficient. Then we wouldn't have this problem."

Neal couldn't defend himself. He couldn't even speak.

Tommy sighed regretfully. "If only you used that pretty little head of yours…but, alas, you seem physically unable to use it for anything except charming women."

"Tommy—"

"If you weren't so impulsive, we wouldn't have had this problem." Neal swallowed as he rapidly blinked against Tommy's impassive voice, cold with reason. "You could've saved me, but no_. _You 'needed' my help. Because you bit off more than you could chew and was that myproblem? No, no it wasn't. But I was being a good friend and how did you repay me? How Caffrey? Tell me how. Caffrey."

"Caffrey?"

"Caffrey!"

Neal jerked. His eyes darted around the room as he blinked rapidly. No blood, no tantalizing voice, no Tommy. He let out a breath as he felt his shoulders sag with relief. It was just a nightmare during the daylight hours, nothing serious. His eyes fell on the stain. The normal, brown stain sat innocently at its regular spot on the counter.

"Caffrey!" Don snapped again. Neal's gaze flickered to him. He wondered how long Don had been there. Badeni's lapdog appeared to realize that he finally held Neal's attention. "So what's the progress report?"

"Molding's done," Neal answered, hoping his voice didn't sound as strained to Don as it did to him. "Just waiting for the materials to do the outside layer."

"Like what?"

"I told you earlier."

"Right, well, change of plans," Don said professionally. Neal stared dully back at him, waiting for Don to continue his imitation of Badeni. "The clay molding you have now will have to be as detailed as the real thing. Same size and everything."

"Why?" Neal asked, more out of habit than anything else. He just couldn't force himself to care right now.

"We have a local fence who's going to take it for us and sell it in one month, the same time we're going to sell your forgery back in Europe. So we need you to have something to base your final forgery off of."

Neal supposed that made sense. The Spanish Emperor's statue would probably do better in the Asian market though. A lot of Asians seemed to have a fetish for foreign antiquities. He wondered briefly if he should mention that.

"So get started," Don said after awhile. Neal shrugged as he wandered back over to the pile of clay and gold statue. The blue-eyed conman ignored the sound of Don shuffling out of the room and closing the door behind him. Neal examined the statue. The spork would be perfect for the scales.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait. "The spork would be perfect for the scales"? "The Asian market would be better"? "I should mention that later"? Did he lose _all _his initiative? Seriously, what the hell? Why is he suddenly not worried about becoming a slave of Badeni's? He hated working with Badeni the first time, why would it suddenly become better after Neal stole from the Austrian and Badeni shot Tommy? He felt his gut wrench. Even if Tommy might've been his fault, Neal blinked, he wasn't just going to lie over and tend to Badeni's every wish and command. If anything Neal shouldn't be cooperating at all. Badeni shot Tommy! He should be figuring out how to escape! Not working on Badeni's next scam. Neal needed to revenge Tommy, stop whatever the hell Badeni was up to, free the FBI agents without getting shot, try and convince Hank and Steve to leave Badeni, and, hopefully, give the Feds a chance to arrest their captors. Neal wasn't picky on the order in which he accomplished his to-do list. He inspected the various forging materials arrayed in front of him. Now, what would be useful for when he escapes?

~O~

Peter watched the henchman—what was his name? Something obviously fake…—lead him to what appeared to be a vacant office. He glanced at the two other henchmen that walked on either side of him. They figured out he could walk after they dragged him a good 30 feet into the hallway and Peter kicked one. He got a slap on the side of the head, but he was no longer being dragged by the armpits—a very uncomfortable experience. Peter was under the impression that they hauled him out like that for show, a very stupid show, but a show nonetheless. Not sure if it had the desired effect though.

The lead henchman—his name started with a B…Basher? No…Bunko?—gestured to a chair in front of the desk.

"Put him there and then guard the door," the lead henchman ordered. The minions hurried to comply and Peter was roughly pushed into the uncomfortable chair. The lead henchman waited until the door closed softly behind the minions before turning his attention to Peter.

The lead henchman, Boomer Peter finally recalled, studied him for a moment. "Coffee?"

Peter blinked. "Sure."

"Black?"

Wordlessly, Peter nodded. Boomer turned to the coffee maker on the table behind him. "I've heard a lot about you Agent Burke."

"I haven't had the same pleasure Mr.…?"

Boomer smiled briefly over his shoulder at Peter. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?"

"It was worth a try."

"I suppose," Boomer shrugged as he placed two mugs by the coffee pot, "but you already know the boss's name."

"True," Peter nodded. "But who knows? 'Badeni' might be the 'Smith' of Austria."

"It's not, I assure you."

Peter frowned. "Or a code name."

"Again, it's not," Boomer handed Peter a mug of coffee. Peter accepted, but made no move to drink it.

"Why are you telling me this?" Peter asked.

Boomer smirked. "I assure you, Agent Burke, the coffee isn't poisoned." Boomer took a drink to emphasize his point.

"Nice to know," Peter said, taking a tiny sip from his mug. _Boomer calls that deflecting? _He deals with Neal every day. "So, Boomer, why are you telling me about your boss?"

Boomer's smirk faded. "I'm not telling so much as clarifying. Besides, Burke, I'll be doing the questioning not you. Like when does the building empty?"

"This is like any other nine to five job. Of course, the security might wonder why the entire White Collar division all decided to take an over-nighter."

Boomer didn't say anything, but something about how he was standing made Peter's FBI instincts go off.

"You replaced the security people didn't you?"

Boomer took another drink of coffee. "How did you find out all the information about the boss?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Answer the question, Agent Burke." No deterring Boomer, apparently.

Peter sighed. Then his eyes widened slightly as he remembered who exactly provided that helpful tid-bit. "Neal," Peter said softly.

"Who do you think was on the receiving end of that bullet?"

Peter choked on his coffee. "Neal?"

"No," Boomer seemed genuinely surprised.

Peter let out a breath. Good. "You implied you shot Hughes."

"Very good, Agent Burke," Boomer congratulated him.

"Well, you weren't that subtle about it."

"I had to get the point across somehow didn't I?"

"And what point would that be exactly?"

"That Badeni doesn't care about hostages."

Peter noticed Boomer's obvious exclusion. "You and Badeni don't share the same opinion?"

"I find hostages to be quite useful."

"What do you want?" Peter asked bluntly. It had been a long day and even coffee couldn't cure everything.

Boomer studied Peter for a moment. "What do you think about your consultant?"  
"He helps us solve cases," Peter answered, knowing that wasn't what Boomer wanted to hear.

"Yes, but what do you think about him in this situation?"

_Worried that he's in trouble, anxious that my answers will somehow affect his life, determined to help him, knowing that he didn't expect The Crazy Austrian to show up. _"Why?"

"I know you care for him."

"I know you care for him," Peter retorted, feeling slightly childish.

Boomer smiled faintly. "So we're on the same page then?"

Peter felt like he snapped two pieces of the giant puzzle together. "You brought me in here for Neal, didn't you?"

"Do you know who got shot?" Boomer asked again.

"Not Neal or Hughes."

Boomer nodded. "It was a friend of Neal's."

Peter felt his stomach drop even though he never met Neal's friend. All that time when Peter was on the fence about whether Neal had betrayed him or not, Neal was dealing with an unexpected loss. Showed what kind of person he was. "Who was the shooter?"

"Badeni."

"Was Neal there?" Peter asked.

Boomer hesitated. "Neal was the reason Badeni shot him."

Peter's eyes bulged. Neal must be going through hell. He glanced at the door, a strong urge to find Neal and talk to him came over Peter briefly. He took a drink of coffee instead. "Does Neal blame himself?"

Boomer started. "I…I'm not really sure. Probably." Peter felt his stoic expression crack. Damn it, Neal.

A knock at the door made them both jump.

"Look stubborn," Boomer said quickly.

The door opened and a henchman walked in. The new henchman glanced at Peter, before focusing on Boomer.

"Do you know where Bugs is?" the henchman questioned.

Boomer adopted a slightly irritated expression. "No, I've been a bit busy."

"Ah, well, if you see him, tell him I'm looking for him."

Boomer didn't respond. He simply stared at the henchman until the henchman made a hurried excuse to leave.

Peter waited for the door to close. "Bugs?"

"Another nickname."

"For who?"

"The doctor."

"Huh."

"And the guy who was looking for him," Boomer said casually, "his code name is Nod."

"Nod?" Peter asked. Not the typical criminal code name. Peter thought about it for a second. "Oh, nod is Don backwards."

Boomer looked up sharply at Peter. "Good with word puzzles, Agent Burke?"

"I enjoy crossword."

"So, you're not happy with the hostage situation."

"I'm not sure if any FBI agents are," Peter answered. "So, Boomer, you haven't actually said this flat out, but it's been a long morning. So, was the entire reason you brought me here was because you want to work together and free Neal and arrest Badeni?"

Boomer hesitated then nodded. "So you'll help?"

"Course."

Boomer smiled briefly. "Good."

"So, what exactly am I supposed to do? It's not like I can roam around here."

Boomer waved Peter's concerns away. Peter's eyes narrowed. Apparently his "co-conspirator" wasn't willing to share all the details of his plan right now. "You know the agents who are willing to help Neal?"

"I think all of them are ready to do something to get rid of our captors."

"Not what I asked."

Peter sighed. "Badeni did a good job in making Neal seem like a bad guy."

"Convinced you."

Peter looked down for a moment. "I've thought about it and I th-know that Neal doesn't have anything to do with Badeni's appearance."

Boomer's face remained stoic. "Yes, but Neal has always been opportunistic. Who says now that Badeni's here Neal won't just…run away with him?"

Peter swallowed.

When Neal first waltzed into his life, he was in a guise of one of the many crumpled files that claimed residence on Peter's already cramped desk. It quickly became apparent, however, that James Bonds was talented, really talented. What ensued for the next four years was what Peter liked to refer to as "the good ole days." Peter and Neal having a constant battle of wits, each trying to outsmart the other one, Peter working late nights at the office, the thrill of the chase, the only downside that Peter could think of was not being able to spend as much time with El. Then came the day where Peter made his career, when Peter was finally able to slap the cuffs on Neal's wrists. Peter still smiled at the memory.

After that, Peter was solving cases, some occasionally exciting, none with the same consistency of wit and unpredictality as Neal. Honestly, the toughest conman Peter dealt with while Neal was in prison was The Dutchman, and he and Caffrey made short work of him. Then Caffrey escaped and Peter caught him (again), but Neal surprised Peter, which shouldn't actually be that surprising, by proposing a work release with the FBI. Peter was, reasonably, suspicious of Neal's motives and agreed warily, assuming that Neal would jump at the first opportunity to run to Kate.

Peter sipped some more of his coffee. He was right on one thing. Neal did run away…just not to Kate. He ran away to help them catch criminals, sometimes with Peter being in the loop of Neal's plan. Caffrey didn't even do anything overly illegal, bits of gray areas, but that was to be expected with an ex-con.

Peter frowned. Of course, Neal _did _steal something, a painting that he and Caffrey were doing a case on—the _Young Girl with Locket _by Haustenberg. Peter knew Neal stole it the morning the FBI agents found an origami butterfly in the stolen painting's hiding spot. Neal didn't give any hint that the painting was in his possession until a couple of days later when Dorsett threatened to kill Taryn. Peter snorted softly. He remembered being irritated that Neal hadn't trusted him enough to come to him sooner about the painting. Who knew that he would soon become the biggest hypocrite in the world?

Peter sat his mug down on the desk, eyes wandering down the mug's handle. Neal went into a place where he knew most of the people would distrust him on sight, but he still performed brilliantly and helped Peter put criminals behind bars in a rate faster than Peter thought possible. Neal obeyed, Peter used that word loosely, most of the guidelines on being an FBI consultant…and Neal was _good. _Peter sighed. Time to take a leap of faith—El would be so proud.

Peter looked up at Boomer. "Neal won't run."

Boomer's face softened slightly. "What about the other agents who share your past concerns?"

"I know the ones who'll help Neal, I know the ones who'll listen to me because they trust me, and I know that everyone wants to fight back against you guys…no offense."

"None taken."

"So do you know the henchmen who're willing to turn against the Crazy Austrian?"

Boomer made a small noise that may have possibly been a laugh. "I know who to trust."

"Good."

"Good indeed."

Peter took a gulp of coffee. "So what now?"

~O~

In the closet opposite of the break room, Charlie glanced around inconspicuously before entering. The florescent lights flickered to life as soon as he closed the door behind him. Charlie glanced up at them, then around the closet. His eyes finally rested on Don.

"Glad you got my message," Don said with a somewhat official tone, "I got the stuff."

"No, you got a first aid kit, there's a difference," Charlie corrected.

Slight despair covered Don's face. "So you can't help him?"

Charlie rolled his eyes. He was so gullible which he usually considered a gift, but now it was just irritating. "When did I ever say that?"

"You didn't."

"Exactly," Charlie nodded, "so where's our patient?"

"Through here," Don said, moving aside to reveal another door.

Charlie blinked. "I thought this was a janitor's closet."

"It is," Don answered, "the Feds apparently thought that a double entry was needed for this one."

"Huh."

"My thoughts exactly," Don said as he opened the second door in the janitor's closet. Charlie peeked past Don. He blinked. He had definitely not been expecting that. Lying on a small black couch was a pale, barely breathing, Tommy. A hasty bandage had been tied to around what Charlie suspected to be the bullet hole in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

Charlie immediately crouched next to Tommy. "How long has he been like this?"

"I'm assuming since the gunshot."

Charlie cut Tommy's tattered sleeve off as he carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage. "Does Badeni know?"

"Yeah, he shot him," Don answered.

Charlie shot Don a look. "Let me rephrase that. Does Badeni know that you and I are helping Tommy?"

There was a brief silence. "No."

"Alright then," Charlie said. He stood up and walked away from Tommy. Don stared at him, eyes wide. Charlie reached the desk and started rifling through the drawers. "Is it just me or do you think it's odd that an FBI agent doesn't have alcohol around his office?"

"Alcohol?" Don asked in confusion.

"Yeah, I always pictured FBI agents having a bottle of wine hidden in their desk."

Don continued to stare blankly at Charlie.

"For sterilizing the gunshot wound," Charlie said with a you-idiot voice. "You didn't think I'd just ditch a friend did you?"

Don's face broke into a grin. "No."

"Liar."

**What? You did actually think I'd kill off Tommy did you?**

**Oh, and Hank is seeming more and more British-y to me. What say you about turning him British! (which probably means that I won't do anything except add a few words here and there BUT means that whenever he speaks, you can use a British accent! Yay!)**

**Anyways, yeah so I didn't add the other side of Alex's and Mozzie's conversation with Hank (aka Alex's dad for those of you who forgot). I just couldn't really fit it into the chapter b/c I wanted this entire chapter to be happening in relatively the same time frame which I couldn't do if Mozzie and Alex were breaking into the FBI building and in the next section have Hank talk to them at June's house. If you want me to add it in I'll squeeze it in, but it just bugged me that it would makes things off (at least for me). I might just be over-thinking it…idk. OH! And for those of you who read my hugely long, rambling Author's note, here's a virtual giant cookie and ice cream! ENJOY, awesome people!**


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